


Roses and Redemption

by TheReluctantShipper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (but like only one embedded image let's not get crazy), (not between the boys), (not by/to the boys), Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Western, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dean Being a Marshmallow, Discrimination, Embedded Images, Eventual Smut, I Cannot Emphasize Enough How Much Fluff There Will Be, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Omega Castiel (Supernatural), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, fluffy af, mentioned mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2020-09-25 18:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 36,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20376151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantShipper/pseuds/TheReluctantShipper
Summary: After being injured fleeing a job gone bad, conman Dean Winchester finds himself, by some miracle, on Castiel Novak's farm. The omega's mate is mysteriously absent, but the farm is beautiful, there's an abundant rose garden, and Cas' pup is precocious and adorable. It's perfect.But Dean isn't the only one hiding secrets, and Cas' are so dark that they threaten to eclipse the idyllic life that he and Dean are managing to create together.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I don't own anything but the original characters. I don't claim ownership over the characters or storyline of the TV show Supernatural, no matter how grateful I am for them, which is hella.
> 
> \- No posting schedule, because I am a garbage person comprised of garbage, and cannot commit to anything but my husband.
> 
> \- You can come see me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thereluctantshipper) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheReluctantSh1?s=09) if me sharing fan edits and bitching about writer's block floats your boat.
> 
> \- I come by any mistakes here honestly, but feel free to point them out so I can correct them. Especially if they're about terminology/vocabulary for the 1820's, because as much research as I did, I didn't do _that_ much.
> 
> \- Feedback is life.
> 
> \- This story is dedicated to Stacey. Girl, without you, literally none of this would be happening. Thank you for being my fellow creator and fanfic enthusiast. Love you. ❤

As the bullet slams into Dean Winchester’s upper thigh, making him cry out and Impala whinny and huff in alarm even as she continues her dead gallop, he can’t help but think _ Mom wouldn’t have gotten shot. _

Jobs go bad, of course, and there’s nothing for it sometimes. The life of a grifter isn’t always an easy one, either, or safe. Not to _ mention _ that being able to sweet-talk a mark is a hell of a lot easier for a pretty omega than for a tall, broad alpha, even if Dean _ is _ fairly pretty if he does say so himself.

_ Still, Mom wouldn’t have gotten shot. _

_ “Godsdammit, Dean!” _

Sam’s bellow has Dean leaning over Impala’s neck and urging her to run faster. Somehow, impossibly, she does, and they manage to catch up to Sam and his big bay stallion, Wisdom.

“Are you hit?” Sam demands.

Dean can barely hear his brother over the sound of the air whipping past them as they race past the last few buildings on the main street of whatever two-horse town they stopped at (he can’t even remember the name of the place), but he nods in the affirmative. He can’t keep his lip from rising in a snarl as the pain from his left leg starts to throb in earnest.

_ “Where?!” _

“Not the time, Sam!” Dean barks.

He doesn’t need to look over to see the bitch face Sam is making to know that he’s making one.

“We need to split up!” he shouts instead of answering Sam’s question.

“Dean-”

Sam’s bickering is cut off by the sharp sound of another gunshot. It goes wide, as far as Dean can tell, but a bad shot still gets lucky once in a while. The bullet in his leg is proof of that.

“Just go!” Dean snarls. “Find me later, Sam!”

“You’re _ hurt,” _ Sam protests, “I can’t-”

Another bullet whines through the air. Dean growls in frustration.

_ “Go!” _

When he does look over, Sam is scowling, but he yanks Wisdom’s reins and vers to the right. Dean lets himself be relieved. There’s only one man chasing them over the dry, dusty plain somewhere in the Missouri territories, and he can’t pursue both of them. Hopefully, he can smell that Dean is injured and come this way, so Sam can-

As Dean is thinking about his brother’s clean getaway, Sam pulls out his own pistol, lets out a (ridiculous) battle cry, and shoots wildly at their pursuer.

It’s Dean’s turn to scowl. The man is an alpha, and the blatant challenge to his attack is going to pis him off something fierce. There’s no guarantee that he’ll chase Dean now, injured or no.

Sure enough, the other alpha is growling and shouting and turning his horse to follow Sam. Dean snarls, but the pain in his leg is starting to make him dizzy and he’s only in the saddle by the grace of the gods and Impala’s blessed intelligence. There’s no way he has the coordination to pull his gun out to get the mark to go after him instead. He’ll have to trust in Sam to keep himself alive and unharmed.

That's never been Dean’s greatest strength.

The choice is taken from him when he’s abruptly swallowed by blackness.

* * *

Time passes, or it doesn’t. Dean can’t be sure.

What he knows is that it’s _ hot. _ The sun is beating down on him, searing his skin and hurting his eyes. There’s a fair amount of dust in the air from the hard-packed dirt plain, and when they’re walking over grass, there are insects _ everywhere. _ They’re loud and biting and itching. If Dean was able to, he’d swat every one he saw.

He can’t, though. He’s fading in and out, vision alternately clearing up, greying, then blacking out before clearing again some unknowable time later. The left leg of his breeches is stiff with dried, crusted blood. He can feel the warmth of what he thinks might be an infection radiating up his side.

_ I’m going to die out here. _

He thinks blearily of his parents. Despite a life of crime, John and Mary Winchester were both taken by yellow fever a few years ago in a hospital in Arkansas. The last letter he has from his mother forbade him or Sam from coming to see them, lest they get sick or (even worse, in Mary Winchester’s mind) blow their cover. In the end, it didn’t matter. John and Mary were dead and buried before Sam and Dean managed to get to the hospital, anyway.

He thinks of Sam, going to the nearest town on the river from where they last saw one another, waiting and waiting, finally accepting that Dean wasn’t going to be meeting him there like he was supposed to.

_ Gods. _

He’s covered in sweat and dirt. He’s exhausted. He can barely keep himself propped on the back of Impala’s elegant neck. Only because she’s smarter than any horse has the right to be have they made it this far.

As he surrenders to the blackness for what he suspects will be the last time, he hopes someone will take care of his horse after he’s dead.

* * *

_ Blackness. _

_ Pain. _

_ Yellow. _

_ Heat. _

_ Blackness. _

_ Green. _

_ Pain. _

_ Blackness? _

_ Red. So much red, stretching forever. Deep, luscious, seductive red. Alpha red. _

_ The sour, bitter scent of worried, frightened omega. _

_ A deep, soothing voice. _

“It’s all right. Shh, it’s all right. You’re safe now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Don't worry, the cover art is only going to be on this first chapter. I'm way too lazy to do all of that hyperlink bullshit for more than one chapter.
> 
> \- ALSO the cover art is just something I threw together on my phone. Try not to judge me for it, lol.


	2. Chapter Two

Dean wakes up easily, strangely enough. He’s comfortable and he feels clean. His leg hurts, but the dull ache is nothing compared to the hot agony he remembers.

When he opens his eyes, he’s in a brightly lit, simple room. It’s hard to know for sure without knowing which way the home is facing, but the way the bugs are screaming outside tells him it’s about midday.

He’s laid out on his back, hands at his sides, on a good-sized bed with clean blankets tucked neatly around him. The bed underneath him and the pillow cushioning his head are comfortable, but maybe a bit outdated. The blankets are of good quality and in good repair, but they're old. The room smells faintly of omega, but the open window has aired the space out quite well.

There’s a simple set of drawers in one corner, as well as a neat little vanity and mirror. No decoration adorns the walls, but Dean can see a handwoven rug on the floor from where he’s lying. He wonders if any personal touches were taken out of the room before a strange, injured, unconscious man came in.

_ And an alpha to boot. _

Dean is almost painfully grateful, though. His leg still hurts, of course, but it’s obviously been treated and bandaged. He’s hungry and thirsty, but not painfully so, which means whoever is taking care of him has gotten something into his stomach somehow. He feels clean, and his clothes are gone, hopefully either burned or washed thoroughly. He can feel that he still has his smallclothes on, and wonders if his saddlebag survived whatever journey he came through and if the scant clothing he’s wearing is his.

Before he can do much more than wonder, the bedroom door opens.

Dean’s breath catches when bright blue eyes meet his. The man is tall and lean, his skin tanned and smooth-looking. He’s dressed simply in dark green breeches, a white shirt, and worn leather boots. There’s the shadow of a beard along his jaw and his dark hair is untamed. His lips are soft and almost made for kissing. A light, sweet scent marks the man who saved Dean as an omega. 

He’s holding a tray with a covered dish, a cup, and a pitcher on it. He looks surprised but not upset to see Dean awake as he kicks the door shut behind him and approaches the bed.

“You’re awake,” he says in a deep voice that Dean assumed was a hallucination, “that’s excellent.”

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but his throat seizes around dryness and he goes into a coughing fit, instead. The omega sets the tray down and pours water into the cup before hurrying to sit next to Dean on the bed. Very gently he cups the back of Dean’s head and presses the cup to his lips, urging him to drink slowly. The water is cold, soothing, and Dean drinks all of it gratefully. The omega quickly pours another cup without prompting and helps Dean drink that, too.

Finally, still a bit breathless from the coughing, Dean waves the omega off.

“I’m all right,” he rasps, “I’m all right.”

The omega raises a dark eyebrow in doubt, but he places the cup back on the tray before coming back to sit next to Dean on the bed.

“How are you feeling?”

Dean groans and settles back on the pillows. The coughing exhausted him, and it’s becoming a struggle to keep his eyes open. His chest aches, and the way he hunched over to cough set his leg to throbbing again.

“Like hell,” he finally admits.

“I should think so. You had quite wound, and I do believe a rather nasty infection when you rode up.”

Dean winces. “How, ah, how did I get here? I’m sorry, I don’t-”

The omega shakes his head. “You were quite delirious when you came, I’m not surprised that you don’t remember. I don’t know where you rode in from, of course, but I was working out in the garden when your horse rode up. She was, ah, rather insistent that someone take a look at you.”

Dean thinks fast, really just the work of a few moments. “I was on my way to visit my brother,” he explains eagerly, “he lives just off of the river. I was attacked on the way there. One of the bast- uh, sorry, one of the brigands managed to get a good shot in as I was getting away.”

The omega nods, but Dean can’t be sure if his story is holding. Before he can try to lay it on a little thicker, the omega is speaking.

“Well, I managed to dig the bullet out of your leg and get your fever down. Your clothes have been washed and repaired, although I wasn’t able to do very much for the staining on your breeches, I’m sorry. Your wound looked good this morning when I checked it, but I’ll need to change the bandages again before supper.”

Dean blinks, but the omega isn’t done yet.

“Your horse is in the stable. She has a very… _ Strong _ personality, that one, but she’s been behaving quite well. Your tack and saddle has also been cleaned properly, and is out in the barn for you.” He stands and goes to the vanity, removes the cover from the dish there, and brings back a bowl of broth and a spoon. He sits and looks Dean in the eye again.

“You’re welcome to stay here while you recover, though I do believe it will be a while before you’re on your feet again. Your horse, too, can remain, though I daresay she’s more than capable of caring for herself.”

Dean blinks again. It’s not that he thinks omegas _ should _ be submissive, and he certainly has never thought so with the way his mother raised him, but they’re usually a _ little _ bit shyer, eyes downcast and fluttering when he looks at them. This man, though, has been making direct eye contact, and what could be perceived as _ orders _ if Dean were a different kind of alpha himself.

_ Interesting. _

“Well, I thank you,” Dean says with what he’s always been told is a charming smile. “Impala and I would be mighty appreciative of your hospitality.”

“Impala is her name?” The omega smiles, just a quirk of the corner of his mouth. “Fitting, I think, to name her after an animal with no master.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, ‘pala runs the show, without a doubt.” He tries another smile. “What’s your name, so I can know what to call the man saving my life?”

The omega visibly hesitates, and if Dean had ears like the wolves those religious whackos think they all came from, they would perk up with eagerness. _ The omega who smells so good has secrets. _

Finally, the man shrugs a little and says, “My name is Castiel. And yours, if I may know?”

“Dean, Dean Winchester.”

“Well, Dean Winchester, you and Impala are welcome to stay here while you recover enough to travel the rest of the way to meet your brother.”

“That’s awfully kind of you, Castiel.”

* * *

Castiel doesn’t say much while he helps Dean eat (he can use the spoon himself, thank you very much, but holding the bowl is a bit beyond his trembling muscles). He tells Dean they’re pretty far into the Missouri territories, at least two day’s ride from the river. He says there’s a town closer than that, just big enough to have a general store, a doctor’s office, and an inn. He talks about the weather, about farming, and about his rose garden.

What he _ doesn’t _ talk about, however, is a mate.

His shirt is just loose enough to show the juncture of his neck and shoulder on both sides, which tell a story without words. On one side, a neat set of teeth, clearly a mating mark done by a good, caring mate. The other side, though, is mangled and torn. It’s healed, all scar tissue now, but it looks like there were several attempts to make Castiel someone’s mate, and Dean doubts any of them took. 

Castiel doesn’t talk about them, though. Dean doesn’t know if the omega knows that they’re visible, but Dean also gets the feeling that not much gets by Cas. He doesn’t _ smell _ mated, but Castiel isn’t saying anything about it, so Dean doesn’t push. Gods know that he has a long list of things he won’t talk about, so he doesn’t begrudge the omega his own secrets.

_ Just a few weeks and I’ll be gone, anyway. _

When he’s finished eating, Castiel brings him another cup of water and forces him to drink the whole thing. By that time, Dean is _ really _ fighting sleep, so Castiel helps him settle back into bed and draws the blankets up to Dean’s chin.

Castiel piles the dishes and the pitcher on the tray. Dean is starting to drift when Castiel speaks.

“As I have said, you are welcome to stay here, and I am happy to care for you, and you will owe me nothing but gratitude as you leave.” Castiel’s slender shoulders tighten, and his scent becomes sharper with anger and a hint of distress. “If I find out that you’re not who you say you are, however, Dean Winchester, you won’t live to meet your brother _ anywhere.” _

With that, Castiel leaves the bedroom, never looking back at Dean to see how his words were received.

Dean stares at the closed door for a while, puzzling it out. He’s been a conman long enough that he knows his story and his scent didn’t give him away. There’s no good reason for Castiel to think Dean is anything other than a trader who’s meeting his brother at the river. 

So why is the omega so suspicious? Why was there so much anger in his scent? Who hurt Castiel, and why does he think others will do the same?

Dean shakes his head. His mother always told him that he let omegas get into his head too much. “Too much of your papa in you,” she’d say fondly. John Winchester always had trouble, too, with letting omegas get into scrapes, or standing by when one of them was in need of help. It’s something that’s come back to bite Dean in the ass more than once during a job, but he can’t help wanting to help an omega in distress. Never has been able to help it, either.

_ Not this one, _ he thinks to himself firmly. _ You just need him to trust you for a few more weeks, then you’re gone to meet Sammy and y’all can hit the road again. _

_ Just a few more weeks, _ he reassures himself. He finally lets himself succumb to sleep again, unworried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This is me letting you know that _I_ know that Misha Collins is not a twink. In this story, however, Cas is totes a twink, mostly because this is fanfiction and I do what I want.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I forgot to tag for mpreg/implied mpreg, friends, and I am truly sorry for that. There will be no explicit mpreg in the fic, but it's 100% implied and discussed. Again, my apologies.

When Dean wakes again, it’s to the bland, sweet-milk smell of _ pup. _

He keeps his eyes closed, trying to pinpoint where he is. Gradually, he remembers the injury, the ride, waking up, and Castiel. All of which is well and good, but Castiel never mentioned a pup.

_ More secrets, _ he thinks. _ And why should he have mentioned his pup, exactly? You’re still a stranger, injured or no. _

Dean finally opens his eyes and meets another pair of blue eyes, although these are icier, lighter than Castiel’s. The light of the lanterns that keep the room from being plunged in darkness dance on her light blonde hair peeking over the foot of the bed and the illumination is just enough to see her eyes and her little snubbed nose. She’s young, probably only four or five years old, certainly too young for the wariness in her eyes.

“Hello, pup,” he rasps, smiling. She doesn’t make a sound, so he tries again. “My name is Dean. What’s yours, darlin’?”

She just stares at him, and before either of them can say another word, the door crashes open to omit Castiel. The air floods with omega anger, agitation, and fear. Castiel rushes into the room to pull the pup up into his arms. She goes quietly, and Dean notices that Castiel takes care not to hurt her in any way even as he handles her abruptly.

Castiel is hissing whispers into the pup’s ear. Dean only catches snippets. 

“-talked about-”

“-strange alphas-”

_ “-promise _ me-”

Finally, the pup nods. She sends one more furtive glance at Dean, then buries her little face in Castiel’s neck. Castiel, on the other hand, doesn’t look back at all as he carries his pup out of the room and closes the door firmly behind them.

Dean is surprised by the pang of hurt in his chest. Castiel has no reason to trust him, especially with his pup, but it stings nonetheless. Not just because his inner alpha is upset at the implication that he’d hurt the most vulnerable of the pack _ (they are _ not _ pack!), _ but Dean _ likes _ pups. He adores them, really. Outside of his subgender, the thought of harming a pup is so thoroughly abhorrent to him it makes his chest tighten and ache.

_ He has no reason to trust you, _ he reminds himself firmly. _ You’re a strange alpha who rode up covered in your own blood and half out of your mind. He’s been hurt before, too, and by an alpha, if that mess on his neck is any sign. _

Despite his internal reassurances, the wet-dog scent of upset alpha would still be hard to miss when Castiel comes back in. He frowns and tilts his head, squinting at Dean like he’s trying to puzzle him out.

Dean clears his throat. “I, uh, I wouldn’t have hurt her, y’know.”

Castiel’s slim shoulders stiffen, but his voice is even when he hums noncommittally.

“Cas, she’s a _ pup. _ I wouldn’t hurt a _ pup.” _

The omega blinks at the shortening of his name, but apparently decides it’s unimportant.

“I’ve heard that before, Dean. I’m sure you’re not…” Cas swallows hard and his eyes dart away for the briefest moment before he meets Dean’s gaze head-on again. “I’m sure you’re not a threat to my daughter, and I’m sure you’re who you say you are. But she has suffered for my lack of wariness before. Never again.”

There’s a heavy, awkward silence in the air. They’re on opposite sides of the room, almost, but the distance seems monumental as they size one another up.

It occurs to Dean that _ he’s _ the one who’s really vulnerable here. He’s essentially an invalid right now. He can barely move to get to the chamber pot much less to harm anyone. He’s as weak as a newborn kitten, for the sake of the gods! Cas has to help him _ eat! _

_ So why, _ a voice that sounds an awful lot like Mary’s asks, _ does he act like you’re a threat? A man who can barely care for himself is no match against one who is healthy, even if the latter is an omega. _

Unbidden, a phrase floats through Dean’s mind.

_ “... you will owe me nothing but gratitude…” _

Castiel has had bad experiences with alphas, at least one, anyway. It’s rather obvious that there’s no mate running around here. Cas doesn’t smell mated, there’s no alpha scent, and there’s been no confrontational alpha breaking down the door. Which means that the omega is here, alone, with a small pup to care for and defend.

It hits Dean over the head as surely as if his mother was there, smacking him herself.

_ He’s terrified. _

Castiel must be _ petrified _ of Dean. _ Gods, _ before he realized how incoherent Dean was, he probably thought some asshole alpha was there to _ attack _ them.

_ I would have chased the horse away as soon as I realized the rider couldn’t fight back. _

Instead, Castiel dragged Dean off that horse, cleaned him up, treated his wounds, fed him, and sheltered him. He took care of Impala and let Dean rest. All while not knowing if Dean would be dangerous or not, and not expecting anything in return.

It occurs to Dean that the omega staring at him warily from across the little bedroom is more courageous than he’s ever been in his life.

It’s because of this that he forces himself to relax. There’s not a lot he can do about his pained scent, but he forces his body language to abandon the defensiveness he took on when Cas whipped his pup out of the room like it was on fire.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, doing his best to look honest and trustworthy. “I’m not trying to harm you or your pup, Castiel, nor am I keen on burdening you any more than I already have.”

Cas, too, seems to relax a fraction. His gaze softens and his scent is still cautious, but it has at least lost the sharp tinge of fear.

“I just…” The omega shakes his head. “As I said, we have paid for being too trusting before. I cannot let it happen again, no matter if I think you are who you say you are or not.”

Dean can’t protest in the face of that, of an omega who’s protecting his pup. _ Especially _ since he’s not who he says he is. 

“I understand,” he says instead.

Castiel smiles a bit, rueful but not apologetic. “It’s almost time for supper, anyway. Are you hungry? I’ve made a stew, I think you should be able to stomach a small bowl of it if you feel up to it.”

Dean lets the subject change come gratefully and he gives Castiel what he knows is a rogueish grin. 

“Why, Cas, if you keep feedin’ me, you’re never gonna get rid of me.”

Cas arches a dark eyebrow. “I have a feeling you don’t plan to stick around here, anyway. I’m not terribly concerned.” 

He says that, but Dean thinks he sees the hint of a rosy tint high on Cas’ cheekbones when the omega turns in the doorway to leave.

* * *

After supper, a simple but rather delicious and filling rabbit stew that was also loaded with vegetables and spices, Castiel insists on changing Dean’s bandages. Dean tries to protest on the grounds of propriety, but at Cas’ dry, “And who, exactly, do you think bandaged the wound the first time?” Dean’s arguments die on his tongue.

Though he can feel himself blushing fiercely when the blankets are pulled back to reveal his bare body, Castiel doesn’t bat an eye. Dean supposes that having one mate, possibly another (at least another attempt, anyway), and caring for a pup would all combine to make someone damn near immune to being embarrassed by naked flesh. Dean, however, is still mortified.

Castiel is nothing but proper and brisk, though, pulling away the bandage and using a clean cloth to wipe at the wound. The bullet must have hit him at an angle, since there’s a long burn along his thigh where the bullet grazed him before burying itself high in his thigh, just below his joint.

“It looks much better than it did when you first got here,” Castiel says as he gently but thoroughly cleans the wound again. He’s wiping away bits of salve that have dried, revealing a relatively simple wound that nonetheless is still bleeding sluggishly. The omega looks satisfied. “Blood instead of pus is quite the improvement.”

Dean wrinkles his nose. He’s patched himself and Sam up a fair number of times, but he’s never gotten used to the sight or smell of so much blood. He’s never had an infection, thank the gods, but he remembers his father getting one before he managed to make it back to a safehouse. His mother berated him harshly and the cabin smelled like a terrible, sweet sickness for over a week.

“I’m sorry,” he says again as Castiel begins to smear more of the mysterious salve onto his leg. It burns and tingles, which makes Dean hiss, but it smells like herbs and plants, and he can feel the pain abate in just a few moments. “It must have been pretty disgusting to deal with me when I rode up.”

Cas’ scent is lightly amused as he concentrates on treating Dean’s wound. “I don’t know if I would describe what you were doing as ‘riding,’” he says wryly, “but you weren’t so bad as all that. You were quite incoherent, of course, but you were obedient, at least.”

Dean was under the illusion that his cheeks could get no hotter or redder, but he was clearly mistaken.

“I- Wh-What?”

Castiel looks up and laughs softly, a sound that rattles around Dean’s head for a moment. “Only when I asked you to move around, lift this or that, and when I asked you to still yourself so I could remove your breeches, Dean, nothing more.” He pats Dean’s bare knee as he reaches for two long strips of linen from a basket beside the bed. He folds one into a pad roughly the size of the wound and uses the other to wrap around Dean’s leg, holding the bandage in place. 

“You were a very easy patient,” the omega assures him as he watches long, thin, capable fingers treat his injured leg.

Dean is not an idiot, nor is he blind. He is well aware of how pretty Castiel is, with his pale skin, slender frame, and bright blue eyes that have already shown such an array of emotion. Despite the marks on his neck, he still smells like healthy, fertile omega. He’s been pretty feisty so far, threatening Dean and keeping him in his place, but Dean’s always liked omegas with spirit.

_ Oh, no. _

“Thank you,” he rasps instead of voicing his thoughts. “Dunno if I’ve said it yet.”

Castiel smiles at him as he ties off the bandage. “You have, and you’re quite welcome.”

* * *

Later, after Cas bids him goodnight and shuts the door, Dean glares at the dark ceiling and wishes he had a mirror so he could be glaring at himself, instead.

_ You are not staying here, _ he thinks firmly. _ You’re not going to take him, you’re not even going to _ imply _ it. He’s sweet, and the pup is cute, but you’re not staying here. Don’t fuck this situation up so you can get your knot in something. He’s starting to trust you, just a little. Don’t mess it up. _

As he drifts into a fitful sleep, Dean tries not to think about why he _ wants _ Castiel to trust him so badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Chapters should start getting longer after this one.


	4. Chapter Four

The next morning, the scent of pup wakes Dean again. This time, he opens his eyes immediately and sees the ice blue eyes of Castiel’s daughter in the same place she was yesterday, regarding him solemnly.

His lip quirks up. “Good morning, little one.”

She blinks once, twice, before replying slowly. “G’morning.”

He fights a smile, because as cute as she is, her air of seriousness hasn’t lifted at all.

“My name is Dean. I didn’t get to hear yours yesterday.”

She tilts her head at him. “Papa says not to tell my name to strangers.”

Dean nods. “That’s a darned good way of thinking.”

“But Papa is caring for you,” she says with a little frown of concentration. She speaks formally, just like Castiel, and Dean finds himself inexplicably charmed by it.

“If Papa is caring for you, then you cannot be a stranger,” she continues carefully, “so it must be safe to give you my name. Papa wouldn't care for you and not let me tell you my name.”

Dean is aware that he has what’s probably a dopey smile on his face, but he can’t help it. The little girl is so earnest, so serious as she works out whether or not to tell him her name. He might already be a bit besotted.

She’s wearing a simple, worn dress in a pretty dark green. It’s clearly handsewn, but well-done and clean. Her pale hair is done neatly in two braids that fall well past her little shoulders. She’s a pretty pup, and she’ll be quite beautiful when she grows into her own, he thinks.

_ Gets that from her Papa, _ he thinks. Then, _ not that I’ll be around to see it. _

The pup nods firmly, pulling him away from his own thoughts. 

“My name is Claire,” she says decisively. She drops into what is probably the most adorable curtsy Dean has ever seen. “It’s very nice to meet you, Dean.”

“Claire,” Castiel says from where he has appeared in the doorway, “I do hope you’re not bothering our guest.”

Claire draws herself up and huffs. “‘M not,” she mutters. “I was only introducing myself, Papa.”

“She’s quite the well-mannered young lady,” Dean offers with a wink to the pup. It doesn’t get the giggle he wanted, but she graces him with a tiny smile.

“Be that as it may,” Castiel says dryly, “Dean has things to attend to, as do you, pup. The eggs haven’t been gathered yet and the hens need feeding. Go on, now.”

Without another word, Claire darts out of the room.

“She’s awfully cute,” Dean says with a smile.

Castiel doesn’t smile back. “She’s my whole world.”

They don’t talk much after that. Cas helps Dean to the chamber pot (which makes the alpha blush, but Cas doesn’t mention that or the scent of embarrassment, so Dean doesn’t, either). He checks the wound on Dean’s leg and declares him improved.

Cas leaves again to get breakfast, just bread, and broth from the stew last night in deference to Dean’s still weak stomach, and Claire sneaks back in to stand at the foot of Dean’s bed again. There are already flyaway pieces of hair falling from her braids. Dean thinks she probably ran to finish her chores.

“Hello again,” he says with a smile.

Like her father, Claire doesn’t return it. “You’re an alpha.”

He blinks. Pups have a keen sense of smell just as adults do, but they rarely know what they’re smelling. Not until they’re much older than Claire. Not unless they have a damn good reason.

He keeps his own face impassive, though he can’t control the anger in his scent. Not at her, never at a pup, but at whoever made little Claire, with her cute braids and neat dress, know how to scent an alpha so young.

“That I am, pup.”

“Papa is an omega.”

Dean blinks, dark thoughts stalled as he stares at her. “I-is he, now?” he splutters.

Claire nods solemnly. “Papa says an omega needs an alpha like a cow needs an embroidery needle.”

Dean tosses his head back and laughs. Claire lets out a surprised giggle, and the sound does more to lighten Dean’s heart than anyone could. The pup is far too serious.

“Claire,” Cas says from the bedroom doorway where he’s appeared again. His voice is a bit strained, his eyes worried. Dean does his best to project an image of “harmless, injured alpha.”

“We’ve already spoken about disturbing Dean,” Cas says, “and you still have chores and reading to do.”

Claire wrinkles her nose and whines. _ “Papa-” _

“No complaining, pup,” Cas says firmly, but not without fondness. “Go now, please. The sooner you’re done with work, the sooner you’ll be able to play.”

The pup huffs, but leaves without further protest. Cas sets the familiar tray with a bowl, spoon, and plate on the vanity and brings over the bowl of broth with a thick chunk of dark bread.

Dean eyes them hungrily, but still finds it in himself to ask, “Don’t s’pose you’d be open to bringing me a cup of coffee, too?”

The tiny hope is dashed by the imperious brow Cas raises at him. He’s dressed simply again, a white shirt that’s open at the throat, dark, snug breeches, and soft leather boots laced to the knee. It’s not traditional omega garb, but Dean’s not surprised. The need to survive out here in the West has led to more than one dearly held tradition being put aside. And he’d be a fool to complain about the sight of Cas’ lithe legs, or his rather delectable ass. 

“Maybe when you can hold your own bowl, I’ll _ think _ about giving you coffee,” the omega says archly. “Until then, you’ll have to content yourself with water, I’m afraid.”

“Aw, _ Cas-” _

Dean’s whining is interrupted by a piece of bread being pressed to his lips. He blinks, then watches with keen interest as Castiel chuckles at him.

“I suspect you’ll be fine,” Cas says, pretty eyes twinkling. “Now, stop with your complaints and eat your breakfast. I, too, have chores to complete.”

Dean’s own eyebrows raise. “You, too? What are y’all so busy with?”

“Keep eating and I’ll tell you.” When Dean takes another obedient bite, Cas nods. “Well, I tend the rose garden in the mornings. It’s rather expansive and requires a great deal of upkeep. It pays for itself, of course, but it is a lot of work.”

“Pays for itself?” Dean asks between bites, taken to keep Cas talking.

“Oh, yes. I use the petals to make oils that we sell or trade. Dyes, even, or someone occasionally wants a bouquet, I suppose. So the roses typically pay for themselves.” Sometime during the last few moments, shadows fell across Cas’ blue eyes, and Dean is dying to know why, but the omega barely pauses for a breath before is features are schooled and he’s moving on.

“After that, the traps must be checked and reset, then anything that’s been caught must be skinned and prepared. Then there’s the midday meal, and I have to check on Claire’s reading. As long as that goes smoothly, there’s embroidery, alterations, and darning to be done.” At Dean’s inquiring look, Cas goes on. “The young man from down the road who sells my rose oils in town, his name is Mick, he also picks up sewing work for me and takes the completed work back. I’m quite adept with a needle, if I do say so myself, and that and the roses give us enough to buy wax and oils for the lanterns, and new fabric for clothes and shoes.” Castiel smiles a bit, looking out the bedroom window fondly. “The cow, the chickens, and the traps keep food in our bellies, too, but it all keeps us quite busy.”

Without thinking (which is something that gets Dean into more trouble than he’d like to admit), Dean blurts, “Where is your mate? Shouldn’t they be helping you?”

If it wasn’t so sad, it would be fascinating to watch Cas’ features close off. His back stiffens and his scent flattens into guardedness, wariness.

“It’s just Claire and I,” he says tightly. He quickly gathers up the mostly-empty dishes and gets up from where he’d sat on the bed. “I’ll come back in at midday, once the garden has been tended,” he says before fleeing the room.

_ Shit. _

Dean feels like the lowest type of snake as he settles uneasily back in the bed. _ Damn my fool mouth. _ Anyone with two mating marks is bound to be sore on the subject, and hadn’t he already thought about how Cas doesn’t smell mated?

Even if he let Claire be in the room, even if Dean got her name and her sass and her small, barely-there smile, Cas doesn’t trust him. _ Neither _ of them trusts him, and they have no reason to. Something terrible happened on this pretty little farm, something that left Cas to care for the both of him on his own however he could. And maybe Cas didn’t do it on purpose, but Dean didn’t miss how the omega made sure to mention that he’s expecting someone to come see them. Someone is expecting Castiel and Claire to be alive an unharmed, and Cas made damn sure Dean knows it.

Sleep is a long time coming. He’s too busy thinking about where Cas’ alpha is.

(He’s too busy wondering why he cares.)

* * *

The next few days go by almost peacefully. The farm really is a lovely, quiet place. It’s secluded, so there’s no noise from the main roads, if there even are any. The weather is hot, no doubt, but with the windows open and the door to the bedroom propped open, there’s usually a jaunty little breeze coming through. Cas has fitted the windows with cheesecloth stretched tight over a simple wooden frame to keep buts and critters out, and coupled with the pretty lace curtains, it makes a rather lovely image.

It’s only a day or two before Dean can stand and walk on his own. Cas scolds him if he tries to do more than walk around in his room (“You had a severe infection, Dean, you must let yourself rest.”) and Dean tries not to enjoy it too obviously. From the baleful look Cas gives him, he misses by a mile.

Not that Cas gets to do much scolding or glaring. It really sinks in for Dean in those few days that Cas is _ always _ working. The omega has taken to leaving a light cold breakfast for Dean instead of waking him and is outside before Dean rises. Dean listens to him humming in the roses, sometimes catching sight of him in his wide-brimmed sunhat with a basket over his arm, either tending the garden or gathering the blooms he selects for turning into oil. He comes in at midday to prepare another meal and check on Claire before he goes to check the traps set in the little forest behind the house, tend the old cow and chickens (not to mention Impala, and doesn’t Dean feel conflicted about _ that), _ and prepare any animals that were snared. Only then does Cas come inside for the night, and Dean still barely sees him. He can hear him, speaking to Claire or humming in low, rumbling tones, but Cas is presumably working on whatever sewing he has from town. He works long after he sends Claire to bed, and is often only just putting everything away when Dean himself finally drifts to sleep.

He does the same the next day, and Dean refuses to admit that he feels anything but mild curiosity.

Cas goes about the same routine the next day. Dean struggles.

On the third day that Dean is awake and alert, Castiel is _ again _ busy from before sunrise to well, well after dark, and Dean can’t help but feel guilty as hell.

It’s a strange feeling that he doesn’t know what to do with. His life and career have required a certain moral ambiguity, an apathetic attitude when it comes to taking advantage of others, using them or mooching off of their kindness. He’s never felt bad about flirting with someone and then disappearing without a trace, or faking being ill or injured to gain favor or sympathy, or using other people in any way.

So why, then, does he feel so bad about burdening one wary omega and his pup? Cas and Claire aren’t marks. In fact, something about the idea of anyone taking advantage of the two of them, even _ himself, _ makes him want to growl and snap. Which is entirely nonsensical and he refuses to think about it.

It’s just that, well, Cas smells so _ good, _ like sweet, fertile omega. Claire smells like pup and pack and a lot of things Dean’s never going to get to have. They’re both good and hardworking and honest, and Dean can’t help but feel bad that he’s lying to them and draining their already slim resources.

_ You are not going soft, _ he assures himself, _ They just… Smell good. _

* * *

That night, while Cas is gently rubbing salve on Dean’s wounded leg with hands that somehow manage to be calloused and soft at the same time, Dean can’t hold his tongue any longer.

“Is there something I can do?” he blurts, then winces. _ Smooth, very smooth. _

Cas looks up from where he was focusing on Dean’s leg and cocks his head to the side. “I beg your pardon?”

Dean tries to push the fact that he’s naked with this _ really pretty omega’s _ hands on his flesh away from the forefront of his mind. He’s only a little successful.

“I just… You’re so busy, always working while I sit here and watch the days go by. I feel guilty, Cas, sitting here like a useless jackass-uh, sorry, useless lump. Is there something I can do to help you?”

Cas eyes soften a little from the suspicion that had been in them. “Well, not unless you know how to sew. You’re too weak to work with any of the animals, yet, and I do think that if you tried that before you took a saddle to Impala, she’d trample you.”

Dean chuckles, but insists, “C’mon, Cas, there’s gotta be something I can do to lighten the load a little.”

Cas is gently applying bandages to Dean’s leg again (another thing Dean has added to Cas’ long list of chores, boiling and laying out bandages to dry after they’ve been soiled, making the salve for his wound, caring for Dean’s useless ass). He hums thoughtfully, but shakes his head.

“No, the only other thing is the fields on the other side of the house. You’re in no shape to do farmwork, though, and I daresay you’ve never done any such thing a day in your life, anyway. _ And _ you’re leaving once you’re healed up.”

Dean ignores the jab. He sure as hell _ has _ done farmwork, but he can hardly tell Cas that he was playing at being a farmboy for several weeks to rip off a rich plantation owner (and, with wicked delight, take the man’s omega son’s virginity). Instead, he latches onto the rest of what Cas said.

“You have _ fields, _ too?”

Cas laughs softly at Dean’s almost indignant response. “Of course, as well as a plow for them. But I don’t have seed, and couldn’t afford to purchase any. Even if I could, I don’t have a horse or a mule, and the fields are quite large. I can’t leave Claire alone long enough to tend them properly.” He stands and pulls the blankets back down over Dean’s freshly bandaged leg, then pats his knee over them. “Don’t you worry about us, Dean. I…” he tilts his head with a smile. “I appreciate it, I think. It’s been a very long time since someone has worried about us, but we make do. Another week or two and we’ll be in your dust cloud, I expect.” He smiles down at Dean as he gathers the rest of the supplies and makes his way to the door.

“I can only hope we’re a fond memory for you. Goodnight, Dean.”

“‘Night,” Dean says absently as Castiel shuts the door behind him. There’s something strange about the omega’s scent, some sort of combination of regret and relief that makes Dean’s nose twitch.

_ Probably going to be relieved to get the useless, chatty, pushy alpha out of his home, _ he thinks darkly.

Again, sleep is a long time coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Me, sing-songing through this whole chapter: _"Dean_ likes _Cas!"_


	5. Chapter Five

When Dean wakes up the next morning to his normal cold breakfast sitting on the corner of the bed, he’s filled with a stubborn sense of determination.

* * *

After eating and washing up, he manages to stumble his way out to the kitchen. Like the bedroom, the rest of the house is simple, lived-in, and clean. It’s surprisingly big, really, even if the piles of laundry and sewing supplies give the place a sort of cluttered feeling. The kitchen and dining area is almost compulsively neat, with a small table and four chairs, a tiny stove, and a big window over the tub for washing dishes and laundry. There are more delicate lace curtains here, as well as more cheesecloth-covered frames.

Claire comes in as Dean is letting himself collapse into a chair, sweating and panting profusely. Her little nose wrinkles at the scent of tired, pained alpha. Her hair is spilling free around her shoulders today, and her dress is dark brown. In her hand is a woven bag that Dean’s nose tells him holds chicken feed.

She tilts her head to the side and considers him. “I don’t think Papa will like you being out of bed.”

Dean wipes the sweat from his forehead. “I reckon you’re right,” he says slowly, “but I was hoping to start pulling my weight around here.” He brightens as if it’s just occurring to him. “Maybe you can help me!”

Far from being excited to be asked for help by an adult, like  _ most _ pups, Claire’s pretty blue eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Help with what?”

Dean’s heart gives a heavy, painful thump, but he can’t dwell on how much it affects him that this sweet pup has been so hurt. He probably needs claire’s help even more than he wants to pretend or admit, and he’ll need to recruit her fast if he doesn’t want her running off to share her suspicion with her father.

He gestures to his leg, stuck out at an awkward angle to relieve pressure on his wound. “Well, I’ll need help helping your papa, won’t I?”

Claire’s heavy suspicion doesn’t lighten at all. “Help Papa with what?”

Dean leans forward, planting his elbows on the table and doing his best to exude earnestness. Hell, he  _ feels _ earnest, and he's inexplicably driven to get Claire’s help. He doesn’t look too closely at why.

“Well, your Papa works hard, doesn’t he?”

Claire’s eyes flash with something too fast for him to interpret. “... Yes…”

Dean nods. “So I was thinking that maybe we could help him out.”

Claire’s brow wrinkles in concentration. “Papa says I’m too little for more chores. And I shouldn’t feel guilty, because it’s his job as a Papa to take care of everything.”

_ Dammit. _ The last thing Dean wants to do is upset Claire with some cockamamie idea that she should have to provide  _ anything _ at her age. He grins, though his heart isn’t really in it, because he wants to erase the unease he sees in her small frame.

“Well,  _ you’re _ too little.  _ I’m _ not too little.”

Finally, unexpected but a blessing, Claire’s dark, watchful mood dissipates.

“You’re not little at  _ all!” _ she says, letting out an honest-to-gods  _ giggle. _

It’s frighteningly easy to forget how young Claire is. Dean thinks she was going to be a serious pup no matter what, but whatever ugly thing that’s happened to her has made her a somber, painfully polite little girl. It makes Dean’s chest ache.

Hearing that laugh, however, makes his smile much more genuine. “I’m not at that. So, since I’m big, you can help  _ me, _ and we’ll help your Papa together.”

The pup chews on her lip. “I suppose if I was helping you, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Dean nods. “And I’ll need your help a  _ lot. _ I don’t know everything your Papa does, or where everything goes.”

Claire’s smile is bright, another blessing. “I know all of that!”

“Perfect.”

* * *

Dean learns, from a surprisingly talkative Claire, that once Cas is done in the garden he splits his midday between making a meal for the three of them and tidying the little house. The only way Dean can really manage that is by legging his wounded leg rest on one of the chairs and scooting around as he dusts and wipes, which makes Claire laugh, which makes the ache worth it. 

For the midday meal, he manages to put together simple sandwiches by slicing beef thinly (with a knife he makes a mental note to sharpen after they eat) and layering it with even thinner slices of cheese on thick-cut bread. Claire munches away on hers happily while he tries to catch his breath enough to eat.

That’s how Cas finds them. Claire is sitting across from Dean, laughing at the funny faces he’s making at her. They both turn to look at the omega when he comes in. He stops in the doorway and stares at them, blinking rapidly but not saying a word for almost a full minute.

Dean is trying to figure out what to say when Claire does it for him.

“Papa!” she says happily, her feet swinging under the table. “We helped!”

Cas’ eyes sweep across the house, and his eyebrows climb to his forehead steadily. That shocked blue gaze takes in the tidied kitchen living room, and dining area, takes in the neatened piles of laundry, Claire’s dolls and their dresses (all handmade) put away, and the swept fireplace. Cas’ eyes finally land back on Dean and Claire, sitting at the table with a third plate next to Claire, complete with Cas’ own sandwich.

“I can see that,” Cas murmurs. Over one arm is a massive basket filled with several dozen roses, as well as a few bunches of herbs. He sets the basket down just inside the door and makes his way into the house slowly, almost warily.

Dean smiles a little. “It won’t bite,” he says lowly. There’s no chance that Claire won’t hear him, with her sitting so close, but if he murmurs she may dismiss his words as “grown-up talk.”

(Claire has a lot of opinions about grown-up talk.)

It seems to work, because she goes back to her sandwich, humming a tune Dean suspects she’s making up as she goes along.

Cas, too, is watching her. “So it seems that it won’t,” he replies, clearly distracted.

The meal passes in an almost comfortable silence. Castiel seems to be caught up in his thoughts, somewhere between confused and suspicious (like father, like daughter, really). He hums in surprise at his first bite, and Dean ducks his head to hide his smile.

Once there is nothing but crumbs left, Claire takes the plates carefully to the washing tub and places them in one by one. Cas watches this with a wide-eyed bemusement before turning to Dean with an arched eyebrow. Dean grins and holds his hands up in surrender.

“She wanted to help me help you!  _ You _ look at her and tell her ‘no!’”

The eyebrow doesn’t waver. “I’m sure you made every attempt to persuade her.”

“Of course.”

* * *

Cas goes back out after midday. He admonishes both Dean and Claire firmly about overworking themselves, makes them both promise to stay indoors, and finally leaves, deeply suspicious of the easy agreements he receives.

He has a right to his suspicion. Claire watches the window, the ghost of a devious smile on her lips, and tells Dean as soon as her father is out of sight. They leap into action. Or, as much action as a five-year-old and an injured man can possibly leap into, anyway.

Using another chair (and probably risking his recovery, which he should mind more than he does), Dean manages to get a big cooking pot hung over the fire in the fireplace to start the water boiling for another stew. Once that’s done, he scoots over to the table to chop vegetables and meat, letting Claire gather them up in a little towel and carry them from the table and dump them into the pot.

With supper thusly begun, they set to cleaning up their mess. Claire continues to chatter and open up, and Dean soaks in every word eagerly. He notices that she tenses up as they get closer, so he tries to keep a healthy distance between the two of them. It puts her at ease, and he’s grateful again that his history has given him such keen observation skills.

Once they’ve cleaned up and the smell of stew is starting to drift through the house, Claire points out the piles of laundry. 

“Those need to be separated, so Papa knows which ones need ‘broided and which ones need tailing.”

Dean blinks. “Embroidery, do you mean? And tailoring.”

Claire shoots him a look that makes her look like her father. “That’s what I  _ said,” _ she insists with all the authority of a five-year-old.

“Of course, my apologies, ma’am.”

Each piece of fabric, whether it’s clothing, towels, or a bolt of material, has a note pinned to one corner. After insisting she be extra careful not to prick herself on the pins, Dean lets Claire bring him a few pieces at a time so he can sort them into piles. The embroidery requests range from simple (initials placed in the corner of a handkerchief), to quite elaborate (a flowering vine along the hem of a dress). Each of them has a date on them, which Dean assumes is the date that the order was placed. He stacks them with the newest requests on the bottom and the oldest on top, although the oldest requests are only a week old, which is astonishing considering how much work is there. Another reason to be impressed with the omega, Dean supposes.

It’s not long until Castiel comes back. He has two thin rabbits and one fat pheasant on his belt. He blinks at Dean and Claire, who are at the table, side by side this time. Dean leans back from where he was reading along with the pup in one of her workbooks and eyes the game Cas is carrying.

“Those need to be skinned?”

The omega takes an uncertain beat to answer. “... Yes, and I save the pelts for trade, too. The rabbits, I mean.”

Dean nods. “Well if you give me a hand with one of these chairs outside, I’ll take care of it.”

Cas ignores him, though. His nose is in the air. “What is-”

“It’s supper, Papa!” Claire crows. “Dean ‘n me made supper to help! Did we? Did we help, Papa?”

Cas’ face is worryingly blank. “You…” He looks at Dean. “You know you-”

“Didn’t have to?” Frankly, Dean can’t stand to listen to Cas insist that he does all this work while Dean stays in bed. “I know, Cas, but I’m going a little funny in the head just sitting here.” He smiles easily. “‘Sides, it’s my leg that’s hurt. My arms are just fine, and my arms are all I need to do any skinning or plucking. C’mon, Cas, please?”

“You’re  _ injured,” _ Cas insists weakly.

“So I’ll stay in the chair.”

“You’re a guest.”

Dean scoffs. “Cas, I’m in your debt, at best. At worst, I’ve wildly taken advantage of you and your kindness.”

Cas’ face does some complicated things that Dean has trouble figuring out before dropping into resignation.

“I suppose… That is, if you’re  _ certain _ that you-”

“I don’t mind and I’m feeling quite up to the task,” Dean says, cheerful in his victory. “If you’ll just help me outside I can get started.”

“I suppose it will be nice to get a head start on the embroidery…”

* * *

A little more than an hour later, Dean manages to stumble and limp his way back into the house. The meat has been salted and the hides are ready for tanning, although that’s a bit beyond Dean’s energy right now.

Though he’s exhausted, dead on his feet, he feels good. The sun still blasted down on him while he worked, but it was invigorating and bracing. He’s a little sweaty, but it’s finally something other than sickness making his shirt stick to his chest. Working with his hands was bliss, really, especially after so long in stillness and forced rest. He feels good.

When he gets inside, the stew smells  _ amazing. _ Cas is sitting in his rocking chair and Dean is more than a little smug when he sees that Cas only has a couple more pieces to finish before he’s done. Claire’s playing on the floor at her father’s feet with several of her dolls.

Cas looks up at his entrance. His face is unreadable, but his eyes are unearthly in the low light of the lantern on the table. The omega’s hands have paused on the cloth they hold, and Dean has no idea what to make of Cas’ scent.

He doesn’t get the chance to worry about it, though, because Claire whips around and smiles at his entrance.

“Dean! Are we all done helping now?”

“Well, I dunno. You been keeping an eye on supper?”

Claire nods happily. “Uh-huh. It didn’t burn, and Papa helped me stir it.”

Dean arches an eyebrow and contorts his face into an exaggerated suspicious frown. “We’ll see about  _ that,” _ he growls, moving over to the pot to peek inside it. He doesn’t move very fast, and he’s about to collapse into a chair, but if it keeps Claire giggling like she is, he’ll keep himself upright somehow for another minute or two.

“I  _ guess _ it still looks edible,” he says, winking at Cas while Claire laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. Cas is clearly fighting a smile, too. Somehow, the combination of omega and pup mirth makes him feel ten feet tall.

“Dean,” Claire says between hiccups of laughter, “that’s silly! Alphas don’t really belong in the kitchen.”

Time, quite simply put, grinds to a halt.

The words, spoken irreverently by adults and quite innocently by this pup, aren’t necessarily  _ bad. _ Hell, Dean’s own mother, probably the most intimidating person he’s ever met, used to say the same thing while fondly chasing his father out of the kitchen.

So, no, the words themselves aren’t what has Dean frozen. It’s  _ Cas. _

The instant the last word leaves Claire’s mouth, the acrid stench of omega fear smacks Dean’s nose so hard it may as well be Cas’ hand. It’s smothered in an instant, and Cas certainly doesn’t  _ look _ scared. Apprehensive, perhaps, but not scared. That fear was pure, unadulterated instinct and it’s the reason Dean freezes.

Every dark suspicion that Dean has had about Cas’ alphas, about what they did to the selfless omega and his sweet pup, tries to crowd to the front of Dean’s thoughts. The life of a conman has lead Dean to any number of…  _ Unsavory _ people, and he’s not a stranger to the idea of alphas not treating their omegas right. Hell, Dean has always taken an extra vindictive pleasure in fleecing those alphas.

There’s no alpha to fleece, beat, or any number of dark things that Dean wants to do when he thinks of Cas and Claire being harmed, though.

To boot, Dean has also encountered those omegas. Except for those who are desperately broken, nay of them wanted no reminder or acknowledgement of what they’d gone through. Cas is as proud as anyone Dean’s ever met.

So instead of voicing his thoughts (or worse, swearing to protect both of them from harm forever), Dean grins at Claire. “Everyone belongs in the kitchen, pup. The kitchen is where the food is.”

Claire’s tinkling laughter and the sweet flash of relief in Cas’ scent are worth his restraint.

* * *

After supper, which was light-hearted and delicious, Dean insists on washing up. He's tired, sure, but Cas also looks ready to drop, and Dean still has the burning need to  _ help _ in his chest.

As he’s drying the last plate, he hears a very soft, “Oh,” barely heard over the sounds of Claire playing.

When he turns, Cas is staring down at the pile of fabric in front of him in consternation. From what Dean saw while he and Claire were sorting, all but one or two were fairly simple projects, and from what he can see now, they all look to be done.

“I’m… Finished?” It’s a question more than a statement, much to Dean’s amusement.

“Yeah?”

Cas’ eyes are confused when they meet Dean’s. “I… I can’t properly recall when I was last  _ finished _ with work.”

The burning sensation nestled beneath Dean’s ribs eases just a little.  _ I helped. _ Even for just this day, he helped. Cas is done with work for the day, and maybe the omega can take the opportunity to relax a bit, put his feet up and enjoy the fruits of his labor.

“Papa?”

They both turn to look at Claire. She’s standing just in front of the little fireplace, her wide blue eyes imploring, a book clutched to her chest like a shield. Dean feels his own heart clench, he can’t imagine how Cas feels at the sight. 

“Yes?” Cas rasps.

Claire chews on her bottom lip. “Are… Are you done workin’?”

“I am.”

“Do you… Can you…” She takes a deep, deep breath and seems to steel herself. “Can you read me a story, Papa?” she asks, the words bursting forth from her.

The room absolutely floods with a myriad of scents, surprise and guilt and regret and adoration and fierce protectiveness and love, love,  _ love. _ There are tears in Cas’ eyes, and Dean feels his own get misty when the omega covers his mouth with his hand for a moment.

Cas takes his own deep breath  _ (like daughter like father) _ and opens his arms. “Of course, little one,” he says, his already gravelly voice rougher and deeper.

Claire whoops in excitement and scrambles into her father’s lap. She’s radiating elation, her scent sweet with happiness. She settles herself eagerly and leans back against Cas’ chest with the book open on her own lap.

Cas wraps an arm around her and takes a moment to bury his face in her hair. Dean feels distinctly like he’s intruding when Cas tenderly takes the book from Claire’s hand and flips to the first page. The alpha quickly and quietly puts the dishes away and limps back into the bedroom. Cas and Claire are already so wrapped up in the story that they don’t notice when he beats his hasty retreat.

“Once upon a time,” and Dean will be damned if Cas’ voice isn’t suited for reading stories to little pups, “there was an omega princess. She was very beautiful, but alas, she had not met an alpha she could bond with, and was wasting away…”

* * *

Cas is wrapping the last of the clean bandages leg a couple of hours after Claire has been sent to bed (Cas insists on clean bandages every single day, and says that they should only need to bandage it for another few days before letting the wound out in the air to let it heal on its own) when he breaks the comfortable silence they’ve been sitting in.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean blinks. “Huh? For what?”

Castiel’s smile is gentle, almost… Sweet. Though the bandage on Dean’s leg is already wrapped, Cas is still stroking over the material slowly, which may or may not be entirely distracting.

“I know that you’re not going to be here for long,” Cas says softly, eyes searching Dean’s, “and I know that’s how you want it. That’s okay, I know that. But what you did for me today… Dean, what you did for me today was  _ so much. _ The opportunity to lay down my responsibilities and to just be a father for an evening. It was quite precious to me, priceless.” Cas’ eyes glow on the lamplight. “So thank you, Dean.”

Dean is frozen in surprise, and remains so as Cas slowly leans forward and presses an oh-so-gentle kiss on his scruffy cheek. He watches in awe as Cas flushes a bit, pink dusting his cheekbones, but meets Dean’s eyes fearlessly before he quietly gathers his supplies, bids Dean a good night, and slips out the door.

_ I’m in trouble, here, _ Dean thinks seriously for the first time. Then,  _ I wonder if I can find a way to stay longer. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I'm alive!  
\- I love and hate this chapter equally, tbh. But it's here, written and posted, and I'm done fucking with it. Tell me what you think!


	6. Chapter Six

After a peaceful morning full of Claire, cooking, and cleaning, Dean is drying the last of the dishes from midday meal the next day when Cas comes back into the house. Between the two of them, and Dean recruiting Claire at every chance, they’ve managed to keep the little house tidy, so no real extra work is needed. Cas would normally be out checking the traps and tending the livestock.

Instead, the omega’s hands are occupied by a massive basket, full of small canvas bags that Dean’s nose tells him are full of rose petals. There are also several blooms still on their long, thorny stems wrapped in clean linen cloths. Cas places the basket on the table and looks at his pup, who seems unfazed.

“Claire, bring me the bag of finished sewing, please.”

As Claire hops down from the table and hurries to follow the request, Dean cocks an eyebrow. “What’s goin’ on, Cas?”

Cas is busy checking the contents of the basket. “I need you to take Claire to the bedroom and hide with her when Mick comes.”

Dean blinks.  _ “What?” _

From where she’s dragging the bag of clothing, Claire’ pipes up. “I always hide when Mick comes, ‘cause some alphas only  _ seem _ nice.” Abruptly, she stops to peer at Dean. “Are you only pretending to be nice, Dean?”

_ What? _

The day before, as well as the morning, has been so  _ peaceful. _ Claire has taken to a shine to Dean, he thinks, babbling in the nonstop way that only pups can manage. He’s met all three of her dolls, learned about the reading she despises (and the parts she secretly likes), and has heard an untold number of stories about Cas. Claire is such a sweet child, a little lonely, perhaps, but bright and earnest. Dean hasn’t  _ forgotten _ about the darkness that hangs over this little farm, but he maybe has put it out of his mind for the time being, because Claire’s question takes him by complete surprise.

Before he can voice his panic, Cas sighs loudly. “Claire.”

The pup blushes and darts forward to plaster herself against Cas’ leg. She buries her little face in his pant leg and says nothing else.

The look on Cas’ face is drawn and tight. Dean  _ hates _ it, but he has no idea how to banish it from Cas’ handsome features before the omega is speaking again.

“Please, Dean,” Cas says, quiet but firm. “I  _ do _ have Claire hide when Mick comes, just as a… Precaution. Regardless, I fear that an unknown alpha being with us will cause undue gossip that could hurt us quite badly.” His eyes raise from where Claire is still hiding to look at Dean.

“Please, Dean?”

_ Gods. _ With those blue eyes on him, defiant and pleading all at once, Dean thinks there’s probably very little Castiel could ask him for that he would not do everything in his power to provide.

_ I am in trouble. _

Never one to turn away from trouble, Dean grows bold. He limps forward and takes Cas’ hand in his. It’s rough with callouses and there’s still dirt from the garden around his nailbeds, nothing like the omegas Dean has met in the city. He finds he quite likes the difference.

“It’s all right,” he says, never taking his eyes from Cas’ gaze. The omega’s eyes have widened in surprise, but he doesn’t fight the hold Dean has on his hand. It thrills Dean’s inner alpha that their  _ (no) _ the omega allows the contact.

“Anything you need, Cas.”

_ If only you knew. _

* * *

Dean watches from the window in the bedroom, sitting back in the chair just far enough that it would be difficult to see him from the outside, as Cas meets with this…  _ Mick. _

Mick is… Fine. There’s nothing offensive about the young man, at least from what Dean can see here. He carries himself like an alpha, but he defers to Cas and is respectful as they speak. He’s a hair shorter than Cas, but broad with muscle where Cas is slender, lithe. His clothes are quality, neat, and Dean despises him.

He tries to keep his scent free of anger, especially since Claire clambered into his lap like it was nothing as soon as he sat down. It makes his leg ache, and he’s sure that Cas will fuss over them as soon as he comes back inside, but her slight weight is worth the feeling of her leaning against his chest as she plays with her dolls.

He must not succeed, though, because Claire tilts her head back to look up at him. The crown of her head thunks against his sternum, which is infinitely comforting in a way that he doesn’t want to examine. 

“Mick wants to mate Papa.”

Shocked, Dean splutters.  _ “What?” _

Claire nods solemnly, as if Dean is reacting exactly as she suspected he would. “Papa says so.”

Dean stares down at this little girl who is so much older than she should be. He shoves away the knot of vile emotions that ties itself into his chest when he thinks about Mick mating Cas and focuses on Claire.

“What do  _ you _ think of that?” he asks, glancing up to see that Mick and Cas seem to have finished their business. There’s another basket at Cas’ feet, full of what appears new orders for sewing and embroidery. 

Claire looks back down at her dolls and shrugs a bit bashfully. “Mick seems nice.” Dean starts to nod, but she’s not looking at him and she’s not done. “Papa says all alphas seem nice, though. All  _ people _ seem nice. But not everyone is. ‘Specially alphas. Sometimes they seem nice, but they get mean later.”

Dean’s chest feels like it’s made out of a block of ice from the way his blood has run cold. It’s the closest that Claire has come to telling him what happened to her, to  _ them. _ He knows it’s not his place, and his mother would box his ears if she were alive, gods rest her soul, but he’s  _ burning _ to know.

“Claire, sweetling, did… Did someone…” Dean swallows hard. “Did your alpha hurt you?”

Claire looks up at him again, her icy blue eyes imploring and sad. “You’re not just pretending to be nice, right, Dean?”

The bottom of Dean’s stomach falls out. _Gods._ _What the hell happened to you? To your papa?_ Such an innocent question, loaded with the implications of past pain, of ghosts, of cruelty gone by but never forgotten. It makes Dean want to rip someone’s throat out with his teeth and curl himself around this precious pup and protect her with his life.

Dean is well aware that Cas is probably already back in the house. The bedroom door is wide open, he’ll be able to hear them easily.

_ Good. _

Dean leans down a little, making sure to keep gentle eye contact with Claire as he speaks. “I’m not pretending, pup. I’m not going to hurt you or your papa, not  _ ever.” _ He smiles down at her and is grateful to see her own tension seeping out of her small frame until she’s slumped back against him, a tiny smile on her own face. “In fact, once I’m all better, I’m going to stay a little while longer. Try to help your papa a little more.”

Claire doesn’t say anything, but turns so she can press her face against Dean’s chest. He wraps an arm around her and cuddles her close, all while stemming the growl that attempts to come from his chest when her knee lands directly on the wound on his leg. It’s worth the feeling of her, safe and here in his arms. His inner alpha is positively cooing at the feel of  _ pup _ and  _ pack _ and  _ protect. _

The moment is broken when Cas comes into the room. His back is ramrod straight and his blue eyes are spitting fire, but his words are gentle when he speaks.

“Claire, go play outside for a bit, please.”

Claire’s eyes are wide when lays them on her father, but she quietly scrambles out of Dean’s lap and darts out the door. As soon as she’s gone, Cas rounds on Dean.

“Cas, wha-”

“I would thank you not to make promises to my daughter that you do not intend to keep!” Cas snarls. There’s no trace of omega meekness in him now, if there ever was. He’s scowling and his hands are balled into fists. “She is  _ five, _ Dean, and she has no  _ concept _ of- of- of people  _ lying _ to her to make themselves feel better!”

Dean is floored. He thought, of course, that he would have to do some sweet-talking to get Cas to allow him to stay, maybe soothe the omega’s prickly ego, but he never thought Cas would just outright  _ not believe him. _

“Cas, I-”

“I do not need your help today,” Cas says stiffly as he turns on his heel. “Please stay in the bedroom. I’ll bring supper when it’s ready.”

And with that, Dean is left alone.

* * *

In the hours between midday and supper, Dean thinks.

He thinks about Cas, about what Dean assumes he’s been through. About the kind of person someone would have to become to make it, to be able to raise a daughter and keep a roof over their heads.

He thinks about Claire, about her innocence, what she’s lost and what she’s kept of it. About her pretty blue eyes and her cute upturned nose.

He thinks about Mary and John, about the sense of belonging they had managed to instill in their boys when they were always on the run, always at risk of getting caught, and especially when both Sam and Dean presented as alphas and they were in the throes of three different rut cycles.

He thinks about Sam, somewhere, waiting for the day they meet up next to the river.

He thinks.

* * *

When Cas brings supper that night, it’s clear that he doesn’t want to talk. He sets the tray down with the bowl of stew and hunk of bread next to Dean and straightens, obviously about to walk back out without saying a word.

That’s all right, Dean just needs to him to listen.

“Cas,” he says, and the omega stiffens. Dean wishes he wasn’t so wary, so angry, even as he knows the reason for it.

“Cas, I wasn’t lying to Claire. I want to stay for a while, find a way to help you in the long run.” Cas hasn’t turned around, but his head has tilted. He’s listening.

“I like you, and I like your pup. I like your little farm and your roses. I  _ like _ it here. I… I want to help. Please. You’ve done so much for me that you didn’t have to, Cas, I want to do the same for you.” Dean isn’t above begging, as it turns out. “Please. Let me help. Let me share your burdens even for a few weeks, Cas. Please.”

The silence stretches for almost a full minute before Castiel breaks it.

“I don’t… Dean, I still don’t think I spoke in haste, but…” Cas sighs, and tension seems to drain from him along with the gust of air from his lungs. “But okay. Yes. You can stay. For a while.”

“For a while,” Dean agrees with a grin. It’s enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- One step forward, one step back, one step sideways just to keep everyone on their toes.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Hi, y'all. You may have noticed some slowdown in updates. I got the news that I'm going to be an aunt (WHAT) unexpectedly, and the pregnancy is very high risk to both baby and my sister-in-law. I'm pretty much a nervous wreck at this point, so I'm channeling all of my anxiety into fiber arts and crocheting a baby blanket instead of writing. I'm still writing a little, but updates and replies will be slower than usual for a while. Sorry, fam.

The feeling of victory brought on by Cas’ tepid acceptance of Dean’s help fades quickly, leaving the alpha tossing and turning all night. It had certainly _ seemed _ like a win last night, but he can’t seem to convince himself that it was genuine in the hours that follow. Does Cas really want Dean’s help, does he believe that Dean will stick around after he’s healed? Or is he just humoring Dean? Does he think, perhaps, that Dean is just spouting out pretty lines that might warrant him a better treatment while he’s here on Cas’ farm (not that Dean can think of a better way to be treated)? Dean doesn’t really blame Cas for thinking that way, if he is. It’s obvious that Cas’ history has left deep scars, not just physically, but emotionally on both he and Claire.

So why, really, would he believe Dean?

_ Damn it all to hell. _

He sleeps fitfully until the first rays of morning sun drape themselves across the farm. It’s far earlier than he normally rises (when he’s not on a job, anyway), but the thought of staring at the ceiling for any longer is unbearable.

He gets dressed as quickly as he can and hobbles into the kitchen. He’s not surprised to be the only one awake, but it’s the first time it’s happened. The farm is peaceful this early, birds chirping softly to one another in the nearby woods. The chickens are clucking and scuffling around just beneath the window in the kitchen, and Dean can hear the gentle movements of the cow, too.

_ Well, if I’m going to prove myself useful, I may as well start the coffee. _

Once the fire is stoked and crackling cheerfully, he scratches his chin and sets the water to boiling in a small pot. Cas is a steadfast coffee drinker, much like Dean himself. It’s one of the only indulgences Dean has observed the omega partake in, if not _ the _ only. He tries not to feel guilty about drinking it, too. He largely fails.

Right after he pours the coffee into the boiling water, he hears a door open behind him. He turns, intending to greet Cas and defend his motivations if need be, but his mouth dries up before he an when he lays eyes on the omega.

Cas’ blue eyes are wide with surprise and his hair is wilder than usual, flattened on one side and sticking straight out on the other, but that’s not what has Dean’s tongue tied in knots.

Instead of his usual work shirt and breeches, Cas is wearing a _ nightgown. _ It’s surprisngly traditional, seeing as Cas normally ignores tradition altogether. It’s also surprisingly delicate, with lace on the sleeves and at the hem and neckline. While it’s a modest nightgown in a rich cream color, it still hints at Cas’ collarbones and stops just high enough that Dean can see his pretty ankles.

It’s _ lovely. _

Dean only indulges himself in staring for a beat. There’s no way Cas will miss it, but Dean does his best not to make him uncomfortable. It’s only a few weeks that Dean is staying, but he doesn’t want them to be strained, tense weeks.

He tears his eyes from the omega only to have them snag on the scene behind Cas, the room he’s stepping out of. There’s a bed, but it’s small and short, even if Dean can only see the foot of it. There’s a very small chest of drawers against one wall, too. On the floor, there’s a thick pallet of blankets laid out perpendicular to the small bed.

When he looks back at Cas, there are high spots of color on his cheeks. He pulls the door shut behind him and murmurs a soft, “Good morning, Dean.”

He knows that Cas is embarrassed about his state of dress, of course, and Dean would love _ (really _ love) to assure him that it’s all right, but he has bigger concerns just now.

“Cas?”

“Hmm?” Cas hums, busying himself by pulling out one of the thin towels they use to filter the coffee grounds out of their cups. His lack of eye contact is rather conspicuous. It makes the suspicion buzzing in the back of Dean’s mind even louder.

“Are… Are you sleeping in Claire’s room?”

“Ah, well, you see-”

But the bashfulness in Cas’ scent gives him away.

“Am I sleeping in your _ bed?” _

Cas’ blush flushes darker fast and his scent goes haywire. Dean freezes.

His alpha is _ roaring _ in his chest. The omega gave Dean his bed, his _ space, _ and the implications are making him feel satisfied and possessive. However, his (no) _ the _ omega gave _ up _ his space, and the fact that he had to means that Dean has failed as an alpha, as a provider.

He’s sure his scent is just as wild as Cas’ is before (thankfully) rationality reasserts itself. Cas is not his omega, or his to provide anything for. _ Gods. _

Still, though. “Cas, I can’t sleep in your _ bed. _ I can’t take that from you.”

Cas frowns. His cheeks are still distractingly pink, but he frowns just the same. “You’re not _ taking _ anything from me. You’re our guest, and still injured to boot. I quite insist that you have the bed.”

The fact that Cas doesn’t mention keeping Claire and himself safe from Dean means the _ world _ to the alpha. Maybe that was part of the reason Cas’ little pallet of blankets is in Claire’s bedroom, so close to her bed, but Cas not saying it out loud still means he’s trying to spare Dean’s feelings. Considering how mercurial the omega has been up ‘till now (not that Dean’s complaining), Dean will take hat he can get and be inordinately grateful.

Cas is staring up at him defiantly, bashfulness forgotten. His hands are on his hips, emphasizing how slender he is, and his bare feet give him an air of vulnerability.

_ God help me, this omega is trouble. _

“Cas, I-”

“I will hear no more of it,” Cas cuts him off briskly. “You’ll continue to sleep in the bed and that’s that.”

“What if,” Dean says, holding his hands up in surrender when Cas scowls, “I take the bed until my leg is healed? I’ll move out to the living room and you can have your bedroom back. I’ll not be a guest then, will I? Once I’m helping out more? Around the farm?” He asks quickly when Cas opens his mouth to argue.

Cas purses his lips but eventually nods. “I suppose that will be all right.”

Dean grins. “I’ll help you air out all that alpha stink to boot before you go to bed.”

Cas’s mile is tiny, mostly in his eyes, but it bowls Dean over. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says airily. “Not all alphas smell all that bad.”

His heart shudders to a stop, then starts thundering in his chest. Dean feels his own face heat in a blush. Cas chuckles a bit, and they’re mercifully interrupted by Claire waking up and calling for Cas.

_ Trouble. _

* * *

After supper that same night, Dean is sitting on the floor with Claire. She’s playing with her dolls, who are taking over a town full of “bandits and bad alphas,” and he’s sorting laundry. Three neat piles of repair, hemming, and embroidery requests are stacked in front of him. When it’s required of him, he provides voices for Claire’s game, usually for the bandits (but never, he notices, for the group of bad alphas). The sun has almost dropped completely from the sky, and while it’s still swelteringly hot, it’s also serene. It’s been a long time since Dean felt this peaceful.

Well, mostly peaceful.

He scratches at his jaw for what feels like the fortieth time in an hour. It’s been a long time, too, since he went more than a day or two without shaving, and the itching is driving him mad.

Cas comes back in after checking on the cow and Impala for the last time before bed. Dean tries to hide the fact that his inner alpha is perking up happily and drops his hand away from his face. Apparently, however, he’s not fast enough.

Cas tilts his head. “Are you all right, Dean?”

“Yessir,” Dean says with what he hopes is a winning smile.

“Dean’s face is real itchy, Papa,” Claire says cheerfully from where she’s leaning against his side, trusting and too-warm.

Dean jerks down to look at the pup in surprise. Claire continues to play, unaware of her betrayal.

Cas laughs softly, a truly lovely sound that has Dean whipping up to look at him instead. Humor softens the lines of Cas’ face quite prettily, and his blue eyes are shining.

“Is it your beard?” Cas asks, mercifully not drawing attention to Dean’s attempted deception.

Dean runs a hand along his scruffy jaw. “‘s itchy,” he mumbles a little, embarrassed. In for a penny, though. “Don’t suppose you have a razor I can use?”

Cas blinks. “Well, of course I have a razor, but I… Ah…” His cheeks dust pink again. Dean tries not to be enchanted. “Well, I-_ we _ only have the one mirror, in my bedroom, but it’s rather high, and I’m not sure you’re quite up to standing for that long yet.”

His leg _ is _ still infuriatingly weak. Dean resolves himself to having an itchy, hairy face for a while.

“I could… Help you?”

Dean blinks. It takes a moment for Cas’ offer to sink in. _ “What?” _

Cas’ head tilts back, needlessly defiant and clearly a bit embarrassed, himself. “I could help you shave, if you like. I don’t have a hand mirror, but I have a razor, and I could help you shave.”

“I…” Well, it _ is _ rather annoying, and Cas _ does _ smell rather delightful.

“If you don’t mind, Cas, I’d be much obliged.”

* * *

_ This was a mistake. _

In the moments after Cas’ hesitant offer, Dean only thought of how good Cas smelled, how nice it would be to have the omega close while he did something as domestic (and, if Dean’s being honest with himself, submissive) as shaving Dean’s face. He thought, briefly, that he might be able to lose himself in the fantasy, even just for a few moments.

He didn’t anticipate that he would be completely _ unable _ to lose himself.

Instead, he sits rigidly on the bed while Cas oh-so-gently turns his face this way and that, runs the straight razor confidently across Dean’s skin, and studiously doesn’t make eye contact. He’s not thinking about how good Cas smells, not really, he’s thinking about how much it doesn’t _ matter _ how good the omega smells, because he’s not staying forever. He’s not thinking about how much he wants to bed Cas, to bury himself in this sweet, fierce, independent omega, he’s thinking about how _ unfair _ it would be to bed Cas. Though the chances of Cas catching pregnant outside of a heat cycle are slim to none, there’s still a chance. Dean doesn’t plan to stay, but like hell would he abandon a pup. Even if there _ wasn’t _ a pup, Dean still wouldn’t feel right about waking up next to Cas only to run shortly after.

(And isn’t _ that _ a new feeling?)

Instead of the relaxing, playful, flirtatious experience Dean was anticipating, they’re both tense and drawn. While Dean’s alpha arousal is certainly in the air, so is the sweet, almost cloying scent of omega arousal. Cas is just as affected as Dean is, and he can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

_ Mistake, this is a mistake. _

Besides his scent, though, Cas gives no hints as to what he’s thinking. His fingers are calloused on Dean’s newly exposed skin, and when he uses a towel to dry Dean’s face when he’s finished, his touch is gentle. He still barely looks at Dean, though, and they haven’t spoken a word to one another since Cas came into his own bedroom to help Dean shave.

“There,” Cas murmurs, finally breaking the silence that had settled over them. “Good as new.”

Dean scrubs at his jaw with his hands, revelling in the smooth feeling. “Thank you, Cas. I appreciate it.”

Cas is quickly gathering up the brush, bowl, towel, and straight razor, but he manages to shoot Dean a tight smile. “You’re very welcome, Dean. Sleep well.”

There’s no other word for it. While Dean is struggling to find a way to put this right, to put Cas at ease, the omega flees the room.

Dean drops back onto the bed and glares at the ceiling.

“That,” he decides again, “was a mistake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "You're hot, then you're cold, you're yes, then you're no..." These boys, I swear.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *tells y'all on tumblr that I won't be able to post a new chapter for a while*  
also me: *is a lying liar who lies*

The next morning, trepidation makes itself cozy in Dean’s belly as he dresses for the day. Will Cas want to talk about the tension in the air the night before? Will he be angry that Dean let himself be aroused by the circumstances? Will he be angry that he himself was aroused?

Or, almost worse, what if Cas goes the other way? What if he asks Dean to stay permanently? Dean can’t  _ stay _ here. Even if he wanted to, he’s a conman, and his past might find him even here on this sleepy little farm. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Cas and Claire to bear the brunt of that, even if he  _ did _ want to stay.

His mind is racing when he limps out of the bedroom, so much so that it takes him a moment to realize that he can already smell coffee, and that it’s heavily mixed with the scent of distressed omega.

Cas is sitting at the table, staring down at a mug of steaming coffee. There’s an identical mug across from him. Cas is already fully dressed, and his leg is bouncing beneath the table.

_ Damn. _

Dean cautiously makes his way over and sits down. “Um… Thanks,” he mutters, taking the coffee in front of him.  _ Very smooth, fool. You couldn’t charm the skirts off a street-walker. _

And it’s that kind of rough thinking that means he really  _ doesn’t _ belong here.

“You’re welcome,” Cas says primly, blissfully unaware of Dean’s inner monologue.

A few beats of awkward silence pass before Dean breaks. “Cas, look, I-”

“I think I’ll get a head start on the roses today,” Cas says, just a bit too loudly to not be deliberately talking over Dean. “With you helping, I’ll have time to boil the petals down to oil and dye. It really does take a bit of time, and I usually have to work quite late with all of the indoor chores to get done. Since you’ve been helping, though, I should have plenty of time to get it done. That’s assuming, of course, that you’re still willing to assist me with preparing what is caught in the traps. I-”

It occurs to Dean that Cas’ uncharacteristic babbling is the omega’s desperately stubborn attempt at normalcy. Cas clearly wants to discuss the events of the night before even less than Dean does. If that’s what Cas wants, Dean will respect that. He’ll be grateful for it, even.

“‘Course I’ll help with the meat and the pelts, Cas. You know that.”

Cas smiles, small and gentle, and sags in relief in his chair. Dean belies the turmoil still roiling in his head senselessly by smiling back.

* * *

Over the next few days, they fall  _ (too) _ easily into a routine, the three of them.

Watching and helping Cas make the oil and dye to sell in town is exhausting, sweaty, intensely fragrant work. Dean struggles not to let his eyes wander to the way Cas’ shirt clings to the muscles in his slim back. He  _ must _ be imagining, too, the feel of eyes on him when he’s not looking.

Two days after they make oil, Dean finally feels strong enough to take a short walk around the house. Claire begs to go with him, which he agrees to easily. He thinks she must be a remarkably lonely pup, to follow him around so eagerly. She’s smart, though, and sweet. He certainly doesn’t mind.

They make their slow, careful way to the stable Impala has been staying in. Claire babbles easily and Dean lets the sound wash over him. His leg already aches, but he refuses to stop until he’s seen his horse. She might kick him in the head for waiting so long as it is.

The stable is noticeably cooler than the outside air. The cow is also in a stall, sleeping peacefully. Cas says she’s old and spends most of her time sleeping or eating. His voice was unbearably fond when he spoke of her, though, and he seems to take excellent care of her.

_ Maybe Cas is lonely, too. _

Impala’s elegant neck is arched in irritation when they approach, and she eyes Dean with ire.

“Hey, pretty lady,” he coos. “I know it’s been a while, but I’m here now.”

She huffs and stamps her hooves imperiously when he opens the door of the stall. As soon as it’s all the way open, she reaches out and nips Dean on the shoulder hard enough to make him yelp. He glares at her, but the damn animal has already moved on.

Claire’s eyes are as big as saucers. She’s staring ta Impala with a wary sort of awe. Dean wishes that this fragile pup hadn’t witnessed Impala punishing him before anything else. He doesn’t want her to be afraid of the big mare.

He has faith in his best friend, though. Impala loves pups just as much as Dean does, and she’s never hurt one. He doubts very much that she’s going to start with Claire.

His faith is rewarded when Impala very gently huffs and nuzzles at Claire’s hair. The pup scrunches her face up and giggles. She reaches up a bit nervously to run a reverent hand along Impala’s nose.

Dean grins. Pups love Impala as much as she loves them.

Claire beams up at him. “Dean! Look!” Impala has turned and started lipping at the pup’s fingers, making Claire laugh and squeal.

“It means she likes you,” Dean says, unable to stop smiling at them.

Claire turns back to look at Impala, who’s started snuffling at the front of her dress in search of treats. “I love her,” the pup says, solemn and vehement.

“She loves you, too, pup.”

Claire’s laughter and the way she floats on air for the rest of the day make it worth the way Dean’s leg feels like it’s on fire by the time they get back to the house.

* * *

Cas still works himself to the bone, it seems like. With Dean helping, though, and able to take care of the vegetable garden bit by bit as his leg heals, along with the other duties he’s taken over, he gets time in the evenings to spend with Claire. Dean will settle in the chair next to them in front of the fireplace, pretending to stare into the fire while watching Cas and Claire out of the corner of his eye. Cas reads to her almost every night now from the book of stories she first brought to him, one hand curled around her to keep her close to his chest. Dean sees the omega scent the pup’s hair several times a night, as well as rubbing along her neck and arms, obviously scent-marking her with his own scent. Dean’s inner alpha approves wholeheartedly of the marking of the pack, and Dean steadfastly refuses to acknowledge that part of him wants to be marked, too.

_ You can’t stay. This isn’t for you. You have a pack, and Sam has always been enough for you, so don’t go getting any stupid ideas in your head. _

* * *

The next time Mick comes to pick up the finished orders, Dean again sits in the bedroom with Claire curled up in his lap while he glares out the window. Mick, who is really barely more than a pup, in Dean’s opinion, is smiling too much. He smiles at Cas like he’s happy to see him, for the sake of the gods, and he looks like he just won a contest when he sees the oils and dyes in the baskets Cas has for him. As if he has any right to be proud or pleased about anything Cas does! Cas doesn’t need some uppity alpha with clean, neat clothes, a bright-eyed, gentle stallion, and what is probably a very boring, safe life somewhere in the city sniffing around. What Cas needs is-

_ No! Stop it. He doesn’t need a conman with only the clothes on his back, either, so just stop it. _

Dean stifles the growl that wants to explode from his chest, cuddles Claire closer, and glares at Mick out the window petulantly.

* * *

A few days later brings about Cas’ declaration that Dean’s leg has healed completely. His muscles are still weak and it aches if he uses it for long, but he’s healed and ready to ride again. Luckily, since Cas agreed to let him stay, the prognosis doesn’t have Dean panicking or scrambling to find a way to prolong his time at the farm.

Not that he would do any such thing, of course. He's just grateful Cas said he could stay.

In celebration, he saddles Impala and takes her out onto the farm. She stamps and whinnies impatiently until he swings himself up into the saddle with a wince. As soon as he's settled, injury or no, she's off.

Dean trusts Impala implicitly, so he has no concerns about letting her burst into a gallop as soon as they’re out of the stable. He just directs her calmly in a giant circle around the field as she slows gradually into a canter. She can keep that pace up for a very long time, so he lets her stay that way for a couple of laps around the farm. He waves at Cas and Claire each time he passes them, grinning when the pup squeals and laughs as they pass. Even Cas, who is still tense and unsure more often than not, is smiling as he waves back.

Eventually, Impala works off most of her excess energy. When she’s trotting along, sides heaving but clearly relieved to be moving again, Dean really starts to take notice of the land Cas owns. While Cas has clearly let it become overgrown of late, through no fault of his own, the land was clearly well-tended at one point. It’s all flat and even, clearly plowed often before, and Dean can see through the weeds and overgrowth that it will be easy to organize the small plots into sections for different crops. That was probably what was there before, anyway.

Dean doesn’t know how long he’ll stay, but if he can stay long enough to plow, maybe to plant, he can set Cas and Claire up for even just the following year. He might even be able to talk Sam into parting with some of their ill-gotten gains to hire some help for Cas to come out the next summer.

_ Well, if we did that, there’s no knowing for sure the person we hire will really come out. Just makes sense that I’d need to come back to make sure. If I’m back here anyway, really, there would be no excuse not to come by. It would break Claire’s heart if she heard I was ‘round and didn’t come to see her, and I don’t- _ _   
_

His weak excuses to come back to the farm are interrupted by an earth-shattering scream from the direction of the farm. His alpha immediately roars at him, and for once Dean is complete agreement as he directs Impala, who’s already speeding up with urgency, back to the house.

When he gets there, Cas is a few paces from the front door, next to the rose garden, on his knees. Claire is cradled in his arms, cradling her own arm to her chest, and she’s wailing over Cas’ frantic attempts to soothe her.

Dean flings himself recklessly off of Impala, who is luckily smarter and calmer than he is by far and manages to come to a stop before he hurts himself. Still, a flash of pain races up his leg when he lands on his feet. He ignores it to rush to the omega.

The scent of distress, pain, and panic are thick enough to make him wrinkle his nose. His inner alpha is whining and growling at him to make it stop, to make it better, to  _ protect his pack! _

“Cas, Cas! What happened?”

Cas doesn’t look up at him, his eyes are only for Claire, but he moves to open himself to Dean, to let him see where Claire is crying and holding onto herself. “I don’t know, I don’t know!” His voice is hoarse and ragged. “I heard her scream when I took the basket of roses inside, and I came out to see and here she was!”

Dean leans closer, dimly noting that Cas leans back to let him, to look get a better look at Claire. Her face is red and blotchy, with tears and snot streaking down from where she clearly cannot stop herself from crying. He can see, now, that her forearm is bent awkwardly, unnaturally in her sleeve, and he winces in sympathy.

“Claire, honey?” he says, cautiously letting some alpha growl into his voice. It’s something John used to do when one of his pups was upset or hysterical.

It works on Claire, too. She quiets a bit, still whimpering and whining, but no longer all-out wailing. She’s leaning heavily into Cas’ chest, and she’s still hyperventilating, but she looks up at him. Her blue eyes are fearful and pained, but full of such honest, earnest trust that it makes Dean’s breath catch for just a moment before he forces himself to clear his head.

“Claire, what happened, honey?”

Her bottom lip quivers. “I-I-I f-fell, and my arm h-h-hurts now!” She starts crying again, gentler, but no less heart-wrenching.

Omega panic is still thick in the air. “Dean,” Cas says urgently, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t-”

“Let me take her to town,” Dean says without hesitation. “I’ll take her to the doctor, he’ll get her fixed up. Impala will get us there in no time.” When Cas hesitates, Dean realizes how presumptuous he’s being. With another wince, he hurries to correct himself. “Wait, no, of course not. Cas, you take Impala, take Claire to town to the doctor. I can wait here, and Impala will-”

“No,” Cas says to Dean’s surprise. It seems to cost the omega to say it, somehow, but his gaze is firm and resolute when it means Dean’s. “No, it will be better if you take her. Impala minds you better, obviously, and it will…” Cas sets his jaw and looks away. “We will discuss it when you get back, but it will be better if you take her,” he says stiffly.

With Cas so obviously upset, Dean is hesitant to just leave. “Cas, I-”

“Go, please. Take care of her, Dean. We’ll talk when you return.”

Finally, Dean nods and they both rise to their feet. Dean hurries back and hauls himself back up onto Impala’s back. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she knows  _ exactly _ what’s going on, because she’s still and serene when Cas approaches, even with the scent of panic so thick in the air.

_ Come to think of it, I don’t really know any better, do I? _

As tenderly as he can, Dean pulls Claire into his arms. He settles her against his chest, taking as much care as possible with her injured arm. When she’s settled, he looks back at Cas.

As young as the omega is, he looks at least twenty years older right now. The pain on his face leaves lines around his eyes and mouth that aren’t normally there, and his eyes are dull with a hundred emotions Dean can hardly identify.

“Impala can carry three of us,” Dean says softly. “We-”

“No, go,” Cas says firmly, eyes never leaving his pup. “Please, Dean. Please take care of her. Please help her. She’s-” he swallows hard, and tears finally start to fall down his face. “She’s my everything, Dean. Please help her.”

“I will,” Dean promises, his inner alpha absolutely going wild at the devastation on Cas’ face. “I will. We’ll be back soon, Cas.”

At Cas’ brief, stiff nod, Dean whirls Impala around and heads toward the town at a gallop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Cliffhanger! I'll try not to leave you guys hanging for too long!  
\- Chapters _should_ be getting longer after this one.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Hi. Sorry about the wait, y'all.  
\- Also, I don't know a damn thing about how doctor's offices in the 1820s would have operated. I did very little research on it, but here's my best guess.

Later, Dean will remember murmuring to Claire and holding the pup close enough that she can scent him for comfort, which she does in the trusting, desperate way pups always do when they’re scared. He will remember urging every last bit of speed out of Impala that she’s capable of. He’ll remember wishing it wasn’t so gods-forsaken  _ hot, _ or that he’d thought to bring something to shield Claire from the worst of the blasting heat. He’ll remember coughing from the dust only because he worries that it will jostle Claire’s arm.

The rest of the ride to town is a blur.

* * *

By the time they get into the town proper, Dean is quite beside himself. Claire is still crying, but it’s a still, quiet sort of weeping. The lack of her whimpering is quite possibly  _ worse _ than her making noise, somehow, and it’s chased away any rationality he was capable of in the first place.

He directs Impala to the doctor’s office with as much urgency as he dares. It’s a small town, so there’s less traffic than there would be in a city, but there are still a few people crossing the road he has to be mindful of. The scent of enraged, terrified alpha and pained, terrified pup, coupled with the sight of Impala charging down the road, has people darting out of the way.

Once he gets to the doctor’s office, he struggles to dismount quickly and gently enough to not dislodge Claire. He isn’t sure how he does, because she cries out in pain when they land, but he rushes into the office just a moment later. He doesn’t bother tying Impala up, she knows to stay where she is.

As soon as he’s in the tiny, clean room that makes up the doctor’s office, he makes no bones about pumping his own scent into the area. He floods the room with panic and anger as he starts to shout.

“I need a doctor! Quick, please! I need a doctor!”

An older omega is sitting behind a wide desk at one corner of the room, but the place is blissfully empty otherwise. She startles when he bursts in, but softens when she sees Claire in his arms.

“All right, dear, just-”

Before she has a chance to continue, another alpha enters. He’s wearing simple workman’s clothes, which makes Dean’s eyes narrow in distrust, but he’s also wearing a white doctor’s coat. He’s tall and broad with a gentle, kind face.

“Hello,” he says with absolutely no challenge in his voice. “I’m Ezekiel Angelus, the doctor ‘round here. What’s the problem?”

“She- Her arm- She fell, and I think her arm is broken.” Dean is well aware that his own voice is ragged with fear and anger, but he couldn’t fix it if he tried. “Please, you have to help her.”

Ezekiel nods easily, incredibly calm and collected in the face of another distraught, angry alpha. “Of course, let’s take a look.”

Dean wants to be easy, too, but there is a huge part of him that’s  _ screaming _ that his pup is in pain, that he failed to protect her. No matter the pup’s actual alpha, she’s  _ his _ right now, and she’s still crying.

Worse, when the doctor reaches for her, she presses against Dean even harder and whimpers.

Dean genuinely cannot help the way he snarls and pulls her away from the doctor. He’ll be mortified later, he’s sure, but right now there’s an alpha in his space making his pup even more scared than she already was, and Dean is more than willing to make sure there’s hell to pay for it.

To his surprise (and, much later, relief), Ezekiel immediately backs off. His hands drop to his sides and he tilts his head, baring his neck in submission.

“There, there,” the doctor says calmly. That’s all right, alpha. You can carry her back to the exam room.”

Dean nods and makes a concentrated effort to relax a little. “Sorry,” he grunts, holding Claire close.

Ezekiel waves a hand. “Don’t mention it any further, I understand. What’s our patient’s name?”

When the pup just presses her face harder into Dean’s chest, he answers for her. “Claire.”

“And her surname?”

Dean blinks.  _ Gods. _ For all they’ve been through at that little farm, for all of the trust fought for and won, for all that Dean has been woven into their lives, he has no fucking  _ idea _ what Cas’ surname is.

“I- Claire. Her name is Claire. She lives with her father, Castiel? They have a farm. With roses, about-”

Dean’s rambling is cut off by the sour smell of angry omega. When he looks at her, the omega who so sweetly tried to greet them has become a scowling, beady-eyed woman who looks like she swallowed a lemon.

_ Why? Not because of Cas, surely. What’s going on? _

“Hannah,” Ezekiel says briskly, “watch the door.” He turns to Dean, softening the irritation and anger in his face. “If you’ll come with me, alpha. We’ll have young Claire fixed up in a jiffy.”

Thoughts of Hannah, Cas’ name, and angry omegas immediately get pushed aside for getting his pup taken care of, and Dean follows the doctor down the hall.

* * *

Watching Claire’s arm be set so the doctor can put a strong split on it, even though she’d already been given pain medicine and was sleepy and pliant by that point, quite possibly shaved ten entire years off of the end of Dean’s life. He knows, in his head, that he must have been through tense, stressful situations before. His life has, to this day, been pretty damn eventful.

Nothing he has ever endured, however, can hold even a weak candle to watching Claire be in pain and being unable to do a damn thing about it. The feeling of self-loathing and helplessness almost drowned him until Ezekiel gently reminded him to control his scent.

“And we’re done,” the doctor says an eternity later. He looks almost as tired and stressed as Dean feels, and Dean wonders how the other alpha handles being around hurt or injured pups and omegas so often.

Claire, for her part, is clearly exhausted. She’s limp against Dean’s chest, sleeping soundly under the influence of a sleeping draught. Dean is immeasurably grateful that she seems peaceful.

The doctor is smiling down at her, too, before he meets Dean’s eyes again. Dean likes the man, even outside of him being the one to ease Claire’s pain. His temper is even, and though he’s a big man, he moves gently, aware of his size.

“I’m going to give you some medicine to take home with her, all right? I’ll be right back, then you can take Claire home.

Dean nods, too drained to do much else as the doctor leaves the room. He’s just ready to settle the bill (and thank the gods his gold pouch is still tied to Impala’s saddle he would have hated to tarnish Cas’ name by not being able to pay) and take Claire home.

The doctor steps out and Dean tries to gather himself enough to get them back to the farm. He feels like he’s just run ten miles, and his leg feels like it’s on fire.

_ Gods, and she’s not even mine! _ he thinks, and then carefully ignores the way his inner alpha growls at the idea.

Before he can get to his feet, though, Hannah slips into the exam room.

Dean’s eyes narrow, and he tightens his hold on Claire protectively. The woman has a furtive air about her as she sinks further into the room, like she has a secret too nasty for polite company.

Considering the way she reacted to Cas’ name, Dean thinks that’s  _ exactly _ what she thinks. Dean has been studying people to figure out their motives since he could walk and talk. He knows when someone is a gossip, and he knows when someone has convinced themselves that whatever they’re about to say is for the greater good, not vicious barbs disguised as concern.

He wants to tell her to scram, to get out before whatever poison she wants to spew gets out, soaks he and Claire in needless vitriol.

He’s not fast enough.

“You don’t live here,” she says, speaking quickly, quietly, “or you didn’t before, so no one has warned you, I expect. You want to be careful out there, alone with that…  _ Omega.” _ She spits the word as if it’s dirty, as if she herself isn’t an omega.

“He’s a sneaky one, you see,” she continues, apparently unaware of his stone face or stiff, displeased posture. “Alphas tend to disappear out on the Novak farm you know. Novak! You didn’t even know his surname! Really, we should have known after his first mate died. He took his maiden name back, you know, highly improper. And his second mate! Well, they never even  _ found _ him! I can only hope the poor dear fled in the night to escape Castiel’s clutches! The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about! Oh, he  _ says _ he had nothing to do with it, but you’ll want to be careful out there, alpha, he-”

The room floods with alpha anger, and it takes Dean a few moments to realize that it’s not coming from him. Ezekiel is standing in the doorway of the little exam room, fury etched in every line of his posture. He’s holding a small cloth-wrapped bundle, and he’s glaring at Hannah like he can fell her with his gaze alone.

“Hannah,” the doctor growls, “I’d thank you to curb your tongue. Go to the front, we’ll speak of this when our patient has gone home.  _ Go,” _ he snaps, and the omega darts out of the room like it’s on fire.

The doctor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, visibly centering himself, before turning back to Dean with a strained smile.

“Please accept my apologies. Hannah…. Enjoys talking,” he finishes lamely.

If Dean had one more iota of energy he would give Ezekiel and his uppity office omega a piece of his mind. Instead, he stands with Clare cradled close to his chest and makes to leave.

The doctor hesitates. “I… I want you and Castiel to know that not everyone thinks the way Hannah does. Here in town, I mean. The land is hard, and life just as much so. Castiel has lost much, and many of us ar more… Sympathetic.”

Dean thinks about Cas’ fear that gossip of a new alpha would hurt them, and about the fact that Mick is the one who takes Cas’ business back and forth. He sees, in his tired mind, Cas’ pinched face and pained words when he told Dean to take Claire to town for him. He remembers Hannah’s face crumpling in disgust at just the mention of Castiel.

He thinks the doctor is being kind but misleading.

Instead of saying anything (he hates the idea of making life even harder for Cas and Claire), Dean just nods.

Ezekiel’s mouth tightens and his scent turns bitter with frustration, but he says nothing else on the subject as he hands over the bundle. “Pain medicine. Use it sparingly, pups are hardy. Bring Claire back in three weeks and we’ll get that splint off.”   


His smile is kind and understanding. It helps Dean ignore the fact that he doesn’t know for sure he’ll be here in three weeks.

* * *

Mercifully, Claire sleeps on the way back to the farm. Dean puts Impala at as fast a pace as possible without waking the pup. The doctor gave him a lightweight linen blanket to wrap her in, and he keeps her face covered to protect her from the sun.

Almost as soon as the farm comes into view, Cas bursts from the house and runs to them. Dean meets him halfway and hurriedly dismounts. He’s hardly out of the saddle before he’s gently transferring Claire into Cas’ arms and they’re whispering to one another.

“She’s asleep, shh, she’s okay-”

“Oh, gods, what happened? Who did you see? What-”

“-that her arm is broken. Ezekiel thinks it’s a clean break-”

“-is that a  _ splint?! _ Oh, gods, my poor pup-”

Cas’ distress and pain are so thick in the air it feels like the scents are coating Dean’s throat. His inner alpha is scrabbling at him to comfort the  _ (his) _ omega, but he’s at a loss as to how. Cas has been so skittish and has what are most likely very good reasons for it. How to help without making Cas’ distress worse, sharper in his nose and deeper in his chest?

He slowly becomes aware of how close Cas is. He has Claire clutched against his chest while he frantically (but oh so gently) checks her over beneath the blanket. His shoulder is pressed against Dean’s chest and the proximity is probably one of the reasons Cas’ upset scent is so vibrant and sharp to Dean’s senses.

(One of, but certainly not the only reason.)

Slowly, so as not to spook the omega, Dean wraps a hesitant arm around Cas’ waist. He keeps his body open, as non-threatening and comforting as possible. He does his best to even out his scent, as well.

To his great surprise, Cas turns and burrows himself into Dean’s embrace without argument. He presses his face against Dean’s neck, just over his scent gland, a wildly intimate gesture that Dean isn’t bothered by int he slightest. He can feel the faint tremors running through Cas’ slim body.

Moving slowly again, making sure he’s welcome, Dean tugs Cas closer to him, fitting him neatly against Dean’s body. He gently cards his other hand through Cas’ hair, runs his hand down his neck and along his shoulder, thoroughly scent-marking the omega. Cas not only allows it, he slumps into Dean’s hold, eagerly accepting the comfort that calm alpha pheromones offer.

Dean buries his nose in Cas’ hair and holds the  _ (his) _ little pack close. This once, he doesn’t argue with his inner alpha when it croons  _ ours, mine, pack, protect, mate. _

* * *

Much later, after Impala has been rubbed down, fed, and thanked  _ (“You did so good, darlin’. Ran like the damn wind for our- uh, the pup, huh?”) _ and Claire has been bathed and tucked in, Dean sits with Cas in the living room. They’re watching the fire gradually die out in the fireplace when he finally speaks.

“Cas…”

When Cas looks over at him, his face is drawn, exhausted, and unhappy. The way his eyes, normally so expressive, reflect flat and dull in the firelight, almost makes Dean forgo asking his questions for the night.

Almost, but he wants to know.  _ Needs _ to know everything he can about this omega and his pup.

“Ezekiel… He has, well, ‘office omega’ is the only way to describe her, I guess. Hannah. She, ah…” He trails off, acutely uncomfortable. He’s not sure how to say it without hurting Cas more.

He fails. Pain spasms across Cas’ face and his eyes are dark and unreadable.

“Ah, yes. I can only imagine what she said to you.”

Cas’ scent turns sharp again with bitterness and sadness, and Dean can’t take it anymore. He pulls himself out of his chair and stumbles over to sit at Cas’ feet. He has to extend his left leg in deference to his aching muscles, but he leans close to Cas and puts a hand on his foot, squeezing gently through his soft leather boot.

“Cas, you…” He wants to assure Cas that he doesn’t have to tell Dean anything, that he can keep his secrets. It’s just that the need to know is burning in his belly, and while he’d like to be a good man who’s respectful of boundaries, he never has been before, and now seems like a terrible time to start.

Cas’ smile is small and bitter, but it doesn’t seem to be directed at Dean. He doesn’t startle at Dean’s closeness, either, or protest his admittedly chaste touch.

“No, no. You should know if you’re going to stay here for a while.”

Despite that, Cas is quiet for a long time, staring into the fire. Dean doesn’t interrupt or try to prompt him into speaking. Cas has been through quite the ordeal today, they both have, and as long as he intends to tell Dean eventually, Dean can wait.

Finally, “I met Claire’s alpha when I was very young. My parents died when I was barely more than a pup myself, and at the time I was living with an elderly aunt in Kansas City. Cain was… He was wonderful. He was considerate, respectful. He never complained about being chaperoned on outings, he never complained about me having my own thoughts in my head. He was tall and strong, from a good family. He was the second son, so he never stood to inherit his family’s entire estate, but I didn’t want that, anyway. He had a small farm, the one we’re standing on now, and that was quite enough for me.”

Cas’ voice is thick with emotion. “I loved him. I loved him so very much. The day we wed and the day we mated were the happiest days of my life before I became pregnant with Claire. And Cain, he was so  _ happy _ when I caught with child. He had all of these grand plans, and he moved us out here as soon as possible. He wanted to be established, to have as much stability as we could to raise our pup.

“He… He died before Claire was born.” Cas’ words are so rife with pain that Dean wants to tell him to stop again, but he stays silent. Cas may need to say this as much as Dean needs to hear it. “It was an accident in town, he was trying to help an omega with a frightened horse. The horse reared, kicked Cain in the head. The doc-doctor s-said that he was… G-gone before he hit the ground.”

The next few moments are lost in Cas’ gentle weeping. He never makes much noise, just lets silent tears run down his cheeks before dashing them away and continuing as if he never stopped.

“A few days after the funeral, Michael approached me. He didn’t court me, per se, but he made his interest obvious. I… I never felt overmuch about him, but he was handsome and charming, and I was grieving. I thought it would come after I had mourned, and frankly, I thought I needed an alpha, especially since Claire was due any day. I said yes when he asked for my hand.

“We were wed a few days before Claire was born. She was an easy birth, and those few weeks it took me to heal and for us to settle in here again were… Well, if they weren’t perfect, they were good, at least. Michael was a gentleman, then, and gave us space to grieve while he readied the farm for harvesting. 

“It was later, really, that the trouble began.”

Dean’s blood runs cold.

“Once I was healed, there was no reason to wait to mate. We… You must understand, Dean, I did my best. We tried, and tried, and  _ tried. _ I tried to fall in love with him, to feel as deeply as I did for Cain, but I… I don’t know if the blame lies with Michael or myself, but the blood bond never took. It never even came close.”

_ That explains the way his poor neck is mauled, _ Dean thinks, a dozen emotions fighting for dominance in his chest.

“Once we realized that it wasn’t going to work, Michael got… Angry. I don’t know if he was disappointed because he loved me, or if he was putting on a show for me before that, but he got so  _ angry. _ And… And violent. He got violent, too. Just with me, however. Never with the pup.”

Dean carefully keeps his scent under ironclad control so that Cas can’t smell how  _ enraged _ his words have made him. Cas continues blithely.

“We’d been mated for a year or two, a very  _ difficult _ year or two, when Michael disappeared. Claire was just a toddler, then. They found his horse in the woods, but he was never seen again. The sheriff was incredibly suspicious, but I told him quite honestly that I’d had no idea that Michael had even left the house. It was storming that night, and Claire was colicky, and I must have fallen asleep in bed with her. By the morning, he was gone.

“In town, they think… Well, I don’t properly know what they think, do I? But I know they think I had something to do with where he went. I sold the horse, Uriel. The beast always despised me. I decided that after Michael and the disaster that was our marriage, I would make it on my own.”

Again, Cas’ smile is bitter. “But an omega on his own, especially one with a pup and two dead mates, is suspicious. I can’t go into town anymore, not without hearing whispers and hateful words spit at us. I won’t put Claire through that, I  _ won’t. _ I don’t know… I don’t know what I’ll do when it comes time for her to attend school, but I’ll figure something out. I won’t let those people ruin Claire’s life as they’ve ruined my own. I won’t let them take the farm Cain gave to us, to make sure that we were taken care of. I won’t  _ let _ them.”

His words are fierce and angry, but his voice is thick with sorrow. His bright blue eyes are swimming in tears, and somehow he’s grasping Dean’s hand  _ (how did that get there?) _ in a harsh grip that makes his bones grind together rather painfully. Dean would die before complaining about it. 

“I just… I know that we’re struggling, but it’s ours. We don’t depend on anyone, especially an alpha, and it’s ours,” Cas says, strength and defiance and sadness in every line of his lovely, lithe body. 

Dean has no idea what’s happening inside him. His chest is a riot of emotions, pride and anger and possessiveness and a warm, glowing feeling he refuses to put a name to. He just knows that whatever he has to do to wipe the defensiveness off of Cas’ face will be a small price to pay.

He uses the hand Cas is gripping so tightly to bring it up to his lips so he can press a gentle kiss to Cas’ knuckles, which brings the omega’s gaze swinging down to his.

“It  _ is _ yours,” he says softly, just above a whisper, “and you’ve fought for every inch. You’ve done so well here, Cas, amidst so much tragedy. You should be proud of this, of your farm and your pup. You’ve done so well.” He kisses the back of Cas’ hand again, savoring the soft skin against his lips for just a beat longer than appropriate.

“You’ve fought so hard, Cas. Done so well.”

Long into the night, Dean sits at Cas’ feet and holds his hand. His leg is throbbing and he sometimes struggles to keep his eyes open, but he doesn’t move away. He holds Cas’ hand and tells him how strong he is, how well he’s done, and he doesn’t stop until the omega stops trembling minutely, until Cas’ eyes are dry again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Whew. That one was a doozy, y'all.  
\- (In case anyone was wondering, SIL and baby are doing very well! I've crocheted out some of my anxiety.)


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- *rolls in a month later with Starbucks* Hi, friends. Real Life has absolutely kicked my ass lately. There's no reason to get into all of it here, but I might bitch about it on Tumblr later. The point is, my bad.

Dean keeps Impala at a slow, sedate walk as he gives the easternmost field another critical once-over. He has a list in his head, short and tentative, of things that might make life easier in the next weeks as he readies the land for plowing. There are things he’ll still need to run by Cas first, but there’s no harm in putting them on his list.

Over the few days that have passed since Claire broke her arm, there really just hasn’t been time to think about the future. Cas has been so frantic to take care of the pup that it was natural for Dean to take over the chores, outside of sewing and cooking. It’s been busy, doing both Cas and Claire’s outdoor chores as well as exercising Impala and getting the lay of the land. It’s a sight different than the languid inactivity that Dean has known since he rode up to the Novak farm, but that that's a bad thing. He's never gotten on all that well with idleness.

The only thing Cas absolutely will not allow Dean to take over, however, is caring for the rose garden. 

_ “Can I help with the roses? I can-” _

_ A volatile mixture of panic, guilt, anger, and defensiveness flood the air at Dean’s words. Before he can so much as sneeze, Cas is whirling on him from where he’s finishing washing the dishes. _

_ “No!” the omega growls, and Dean is so bemused by the reaction that he hardly notices the thrill that burns in his belly at the sound. _

_ “You will not  _ touch _ the garden, Dean, or so help me, I’ll-” _

_ “Cas!” Dean interrupts, hands held in front of himself in a pose of surrender. “Cas, it’s okay. I didn't mean to overstep. I won’t touch the roses, I’m real sorry.” _

_ Cas glares for another moment, then slumps and lets his gaze drop away from Dean’s. “No, please,  _ I’m _ sorry, Dean. That was an… Overreaction.” _

_ Dean smiles a little. “No, Cas. You’ve worked hard on it. I’ll just muck it up somehow with my big dumb alpha hands. No apologies needed.” _

_ Cas studies him through lowered lashes for a moment before sniffing primly. “Well, I apologize nonetheless, but I’ll… I’ll take care of the garden, Dean.” _

_ “Whatever you say, Cas.” _

Apology or no, the message had been clear. The omega’s hands are the only ones permitted to tend the roses.

It’s endearing, really, how protective Cas is of the garden. For someone who has lost so much, it makes a certain amount of sense that he has such pride for his roses, and he’s certainly earned it. The garden benefits from Cas’ daily attentions, always flourishing, deep, vibrant (alpha) red blooms that catch and keep the eye.

A soft grumble draws him out of his wandering thoughts. Claire, protected from the punishing sun by a light linen blanket and a too-big sunhat that is, quite frankly, painfully cute, is curled against his belly, riding sidesaddle in the safe cage provided by Dean’s arms. She’s been grumpy and difficult all morning until, finally, Cas agreed that fresh air and sunshine might help her out.

Just as Dean thought it would, the slow, gentle rocking of Impala’s gait sent Claire off to sleep right away. He knows that he’s had a rough time, even as tough as she is, and she just needed to be a fussy pup for a bit before she settled down.

Now she’s sleeping against him, trusting and warm and precious. His heart is doing somersaults in his chest, which he resolutely ignores. He can feel the sweat soaking his shirt from where she’s pressed against him, but he’d rather die than move her. 

To distract himself from the emotions roiling about in his chest when his mind is on the omega and his sweet pup, Dean starts to speak out loud.

“I think,” he says softly enough that Claire won’t wake, “that this will be where we plant the wheat. Good, level ground, easy to irrigate, if it comes to that. Not that it should, your Papa says that it rains quite often here, but if it does, it will be doable. Not a lot of wheat here in the territories, but I know a man from Turkey, and that’s a country, little one, not a bird. He’ll sell me some seed, he swears it will be profitable, and gods know you and your Papa could benefit from some profit. Even if it’s just a small bit this next year, it will help. I think-”

“I didn’t know you’re staying forever,” Claire murmurs, shatteringly innocent from beneath the wide brim of her hat, “but I’m glad. I think you’re a nice alpha for real.”

Dean is stunned into silence. He thought she was  _ asleep, _ for the sake of the gods, or he never would have spoken like… Well, like he’s going to stay. No matter what he wants, and he’s not entirely sure what that even  _ is _ anymore, he’s  _ not _ a good alpha. He’d not worked an honest day’s work in his life before stepping foot on this farm. What little Cas and Claire know about him is a lie, thought up fresh from an injury and fever addled mind.

What could he even bring to them? True, he has plenty of money, but not enough to get them through more than a few months. He and Sam never worked to take much more than they’d need for the immediate future. Hell, Dean has spent a significant portion of his life not being sure he’d be alive to  _ see _ a future.

Sure, he has some cobbled-together skills and a fair dose of common sense that have allowed him to help Cas and Claire the last couple of weeks, but that’s not enough. With the massive lies he’s told Cas standing between them, not to mention the fact that Sam’s probably already waiting in Kansas City, there’s so much that means Dean needs to put the Novaks and their farm and their roses behind him sooner rather than later.

So why, if he’s never once wanted more out of his life than fleecing people who deserved to be fleeced out of their usually ill-gotten gold, does the thought of leaving make him so uncomfortable?

* * *

He’s washing up after supper that night while Cas puts the pup to bed, and he’s still so conflicted he can barely think.

He has to leave.

He  _ has _ to leave. He’ll put Cas in touch with the man from Turkey. He’ll hire a beta or omega farmhand to come out and help Cas with the fields, to really get the farm running again. He should go, he  _ must _ go. Claire thinks he’s staying, and it will break her heart  _ (she’ll never trust an alpha again-no, no, pups are resilient, she’ll be all right), _ but less so than if he stays and she finds out he’s not what he says he is.

He’s so busy telling himself to go, to begin preparations, that Cas surprises him when he asks softly, “Dean? Are you quite all right?”

Abruptly, Dean realizes that he’s staring down into the washbasin, which is empty save suds and murky water.  _ Damn. _

“I’m fine,” he says, turning to give the omega an easy smile, “woolgathering, I suppose. I’ll go-”

“Please, sit with me for a moment. It’ll keep,” Cas says, gently but with no room for argument. He gestures to the table.

Warily, Dean does as bid. As much as he’d like to, the amount of work needed to be done every day leaves little time for the two of them to just sit, talk. For Cas to be asking for it now, before throwing out the old wash water and tidying up, must mean it’s important.

Which, quite frankly, doesn’t bode well for Dean.

Cas sits across from him and clasps his hands on the table. In this rare moment of stillness, his beauty shines more vibrantly. His high cheekbones, the sweep of his thick, soot-dark lashes, his plump mouth that begs to be taken. Though he’s dressed as a working man, like usual, he’s almost prim like this, delicate, lovely.

_ I’m in so much trouble. _

After a few heavy, tense beats of silence, Cas begins to speak.

“Claire has… That is, when I was tucking her into bed for the night just now, she…” He takes a deep breath and visibly braces himself. “Claire has the idea in her head that you intend to stay permanently with us.”

Dean blinks. “Um, I-”

“And I know,” Cas cuts him off, “that pups can sometimes… Well, create, I suppose, they create what they really wish for and make it so in their minds I know that she’s quite fond of you. I know, too, that you would never harm her deliberately. I just… You must understand, I have to protect her above everything.” Indeed, Cas’ eyes are begging for just that - understanding - even as he goes on.

“I want to make sure that you’re not encouraging that line of thought. You’re not… Dean, I know you’re going to leave any day now, and I-”

Quite suddenly, Dean knows  _ exactly _ what he wants. 

“What if I don’t want to leave anymore?”

Thrown off, it’s Cas’ turn to blink. “I bet your pardon?”

Despite his confusion and conflict of just a few moments before, Dean is suddenly certain of this. Moreso than he’s ever been in his life. He’ll figure out a way to move around any obstacles blocking this particular path. He’ll go  _ through _ them if he has to.

Slowly, giving the omega plenty of time to pull away, Dean reaches across the table to take Cas’ hand in his. He’s again pleased by the callouses he finds there.

“Cas, I want to stay. I don’t want to leave. I  _ love… _ it. Here. I love it here. The farm, the hard work, all of it. And I adore Claire, you know that. I want to watch her grow up, to take on the world. I want to plow the fields, plant, and be here at harvest time.”

Cas’ eyes are huge and shocked. His silence is making Dean nervous, but he refuses to back down now.

“I don’t… We don’t…” He swallows against the way his inner alpha is raging against what he says next. It has to be said. Cas has to know that this isn’t…  _ That. _

“I guess I haven’t done a fair job of hiding how I feel about you, Cas, but we don’t… I’m not saying I have to be your mate to stay.” The words feel like they’re being torn from him now that he’s acknowledged how he feels about the beautiful, strong omega in front of him. “It’s not that I don’t-no, that’s not important. What I mean to say is that I’ll sleep here, on the living room floor, if that’s what you want. Hell, I’ll sleep out in the barn, it won’t be the first time Impala and I have bunked together. I just want to stay. I want to be here, with both of you. Please, Cas,” he says, laying it all out for Cas to see, “I want to be a part of your family.”

“You… But, your brother…” Cas says faintly, still staring at Dean in shock.

“I’ll still meet Sammy in Kansas City like we planned, but I’ll also get seed, supplies, new books for Claire. I’ll tell Sam I’m done with the travelling life. I’ll even bring some of your perfumes and oils to sell, if you like. I can sell them in the city, and I’ll come back.” He squeezes Cas’ slack hand gently. “Please, Cas. Can I come back? To you and Claire, can I come back?”

He hopes that everything he  _ isn’t _ saying is coming through. How much he loves the farm, Claire,  _ Cas. _ How he wants to lay everything he is, has been, and can or will be at Cas’ feet, an offering for the omega. How he wants to be here at Cas’ side, raise Claire and have the farm and  _ rest _ and  _ thrive _ for the first time in his godsforsaken life. He doesn’t know how the sentiments could possibly translate, but he hopes they are.

Cas bites his bottom lip nervously, but he never breaks Dean’s gaze.

“Dean, you’ve never said, or even implied, that you wanted to stay…” he says slowly, carefully. “This is so… I wasn’t expecting…”

Dean’s heart sinks, but he nods. He’s disappointed  _ (devastated), _ of course, but he knows that this is rather sudden for Cas. He hasn’t been privy to the internal battle raging inside Dean. That’s not even touching on Cas’ own ugly history with alphas who suddenly express their romantic interest in him. Really, it’s a wonder Cas hasn’t already thrown him out on his head.

“Of course,” he says with another comforting squeeze of Cas’ hand, “I understand. Take some time, all the time you need. You don’t have to answer me now, and while I hope you’ll let me stay, I’ll abide by your decision.” He smiles and it feels strained. He knows it probably looks just as bad. “In fact, let me move out to the barn tonight. You should have your bed back, and I’m quite recovered enough to-”

Cas squeezes his hand hard, and some of that familiar fire that Dean loves so much comes back to life in his blue eyes.

“Don’t be foolish,” he says primly, but he’s blushing quite fetchingly. “You’re not sleeping outside like… Like a  _ dog, _ Dean. Where… Where you are now is fine.”

It’s not the answer Dean wants, frankly, but it’s more than he expected, probably more than he deserves. His smile feels more natural now, rogueish and charming. Cas’ blush darkens.

“You know, Cas? I agree.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

With Cas’ timid acceptance of his plea to stay, Dean starts to oh so slowly court his pretty, standoffish omega.

* * *

Cas stumbles into the kitchen in the early morning, rubbing his eyes and frowning. Dean has learned that despite the early hours he’s kept for so long, Castiel _ despises _ mornings. He’s rarely coherent before at least one cup of coffee. It’s endearing as all hell, and the first stage of Dean’s plan.

He’s still in his own pajamas in deference to both the early hour and Cas’ comfort. It wouldn’t do to accost the poor thing fully dressed while he’s still in a nightgown.

As soon as Cas is close enough, Dean takes one of his hands and wraps those long, elegant fingers around the steaming mug he poured as soon as he heard Cas shuffling around. To his amusement, Cas doesn’t even properly open his eyes, just stands too close for propriety and slurps down the first half of the cup.

As much as he wants to be too close to Castiel, Dean forces himself to take a step back. He disguises it as moving away to get his own coffee, but he knows that it’s also a bid to remove himself from all of that pale, sleep-warm flesh that tempts him so sorely.

Once he has his cup, he ushers Cas to the table, murmuring, “Come sit down, rest a moment.”

Cas is squinty-eyed and suspicious, but he does as bid. When Dean rounds the table to take a seat across from him, he makes sure to let his fingers gently brush along the width of Cas’ shoulders. When he does sit down, he notices that Cas’ bright blush just makes him prettier.

* * *

“I’m telling you true, pup,” Dean says solemnly, looking into Claire’s doubtful eyes. “I’ve had bread from all around, y’know, I’ve done a lot of travelling, all up and down the country. And this?” he says, gesturing with the hunk of bread that’s accompanying his breakfast, “is the best bread I’ve ever had.”

Claire laughs in delight. “But we’ve eaten the same bread every day!”

Dean shakes his head as if in thought. “I just don’t know what’s different today. But you and your papa here have made the best bread in the whole world.”

Claire dissolves into giggles again. The day before, she and Cas spent the entire afternoon baking bread for the week. Lighter bread for breakfasts, dark, heavy bread for dinner, and easily crumbled bread as a treat for the cow and chickens. It’s something they do every week, but this week marked two important milestones: Claire was officially old enough to help with the baking, and it was the first baking day since Dean started courting Cas.

“Dean!” Claire says between peals of sweet, innocent laughter. “That’s silly! _ You’re _ silly!”

Dean winks across the table at Cas, who’s blushing furiously again and smiling down at his own plate.

* * *

He and Claire still go for walks every morning. It’s more about getting himself and a restless, still-healing pup out of the house now, rather than surveying the land, but it’s become one of his favorite parts of the day.

There’s not much he can do for the land yet, anyway. He’ll have to go to the city for seed, expertise, and parts for the plow that he’s found need replacing. He’s going to put that particular journey off for as long as possible, really. It’s not that he’s scared that time away will make Cas tell him to hit the road, really, but Dean doesn’t want to spend any more time away from him and Claire than he has to. Especially with her little arm still splinted and his courting of Cas so new.

(If he’s being honest, he’s a _ little _ afraid that time away will make Cas tell him to hit the road.)

Claire has gotten into the habit of darting back and forth and picking a combination of wildflowers, weeds, and long grasses seemingly at random. She gathers them into a bundle and wraps another long bit of grass around the middle. She’ll carry it around for a few hours until it gets left somewhere around the farm. It’s pretty damn cute, if Dean has anything to say about it.

Today, though, he joins her on her never-ending quest for flowers. He sticks with just flowers for his, but he picks quite a few of them, cutting the stems with a small pocketknife and making sure to gather enough to make two bundles. 

When they get back to the house, Claire’s own little bouquet is clutched to her chest, then given a place of honor on top of her chest of drawers in her bedroom. Dean presents Cas with the bigger bouquet, looking him int he eye and making sure that their fingers brush when he hands them over.

“Just for the house, is all,” he says, fooling no one.

The way Cas buries his face in the pretty blooms doesn’t hide his blush or his glowing smile, and the thick floral scent doesn’t hide the sweet smell of happy omega.

* * *

If Dean thought for a moment that Castiel wasn’t interested in his advances, he would cease them immediately. He’d still be happy to stay on this little farm, whether or not he and Cas are involved (gods, he hopes Cas wants to be involved with him). Dean’s known a few alphas in his time who didn’t see anything wrong with forcing their attentions on an omega, but it’s always made him queasy to think about, especially with everything in Castiel’s history.

He’s never gotten that impression, however. All Cas’ scent has ever revealed to him is a sort of bashful, confused pleasure. That’s quite enough for Dean.

* * *

A full week after Cas agreed to let Dean stay, Dean makes supper for the three of them.

What he told Claire about everyone belonging in the kitchen is how he was raised. Mary thought the implication that there would always be an omega around to feed them was foolish, especially considering their lifestyle. She made sure that each of her boys knew how to cook, clean, and sew.

His opportunity comes when a small wild goose is caught in one of the traps. It’s big enough to feed the three of them generously, but not unmanageably huge. HE makes sure it’s a clean kill, then takes extra care when plucking and preparing it for cooking.

He roasts the bird in the cookfire until it’s crispy and brown. He also roasts a few carrots and long green beans in the juices from the bird until they, too, are browned and flavorful. The bread has, of course, already been baked. The only thing he’s missing is wine, but the cool, clear water from the well is almost as good.

Something about preparing a meal for Cas and Claire _ (pack) _ pleases the alpha in Dean. He didn’t stalk and hunt the goose, maybe, but he’s providing food nonetheless. He’s proving that he’s a good alpha, that he can feed the little family _ (pack). _ They’re old instincts, of course, but he can’t help but preen a little when he’s able to lay everything out on the table.

Supper passes like a dream. The lantern light flickers perfectly, emphasizing how lovely Cas is and how much Claire looks like her omega father. Everything ends up tasting absolutely perfect. Claire is so well-behaved that Dean would think she was in on his plans if he was so inclined to share them with a five-year-old.

Dean insists that Cas let him do the dishes, so he’s treated to the way Cas gets done with the day’s work even earlier than he has been and gets down on the ground to play with Claire. 

When Dean plays with her and her dolls, he tends to let Claire take the lead. Cas, though, Cas puts the dolls in sticky situations and has Claire play her way out of them. Even as Dean finishes washing up, he’s watching her learn to apologize gracefully, to settle a difficult argument, and that growling is not an appropriate response to being insulted (he has to stifle a laugh at that, but he’s successful). She learns to interact with others without ever leaving the little farmhouse (and without encountering the scorn she would surely receive in town).

Watching Cas play with the pup, seeing a little bit of his raising of her and how good he is at it, makes Dean’s scent thick with contentment. From the way Cas meets his eyes and smiles, he can tell that he’s stinking up the place, but he doesn’t try to stop. He _ likes _ it here, godsdammit, and he likes being with Cas and Claire.

_ Gods, I hope I can stay. _

Claire succumbs to a third jaw-cracking yawn in fifteen minutes. Cas chuckles, a sound that sends a shiver down Dean’s spine.

“I think it’s time for pups to get ready for bed,” Cas says with an adoring smile.

“Papa?”

“Yes, little one?”

Claire’s eyes are very wide and very blue. “Can alpha tuck me into bed? _ Please?” _

A pin could drop in the ensuing silence and Dean could hear it from across the room. _ What? _ Claire doesn’t call him “alpha,” she calls him by his name. She’s never shied away from acknowledging his designation, whether she understands the full implications of it or not, but she doesn’t address him as such. It’s such a… Well, it’s such a _ pack _ thing to do, to address him as “alpha.” It’s something that pups do for _ family. _

Cas’ eyes are also wide, his scent flat with surprise, but his voice is steady. “You’ll have to ask him, little one.”

Claire darts over to where Dean was just folding the dish towel again to put it away. She throws her little arms around his legs, her splint bumping him just this side of painfully, and stares up at him imploringly. 

_ “Please, _ alpha?”

“Of course, pup,” Dean answers, his own voice much less composed than Cas’ was. “Go get ready, I’ll come in when you’re in bed.”

Claire cheers softly and runs to do as she’s told. As soon as she’s out of the room, Dean opens his mouth to say gods know what to Cas. Maybe he wants to apologize? Explain, maybe, that Claire might just be feeling a bit clingy, or that-

His words dry up on his tongue when he sees the soft look on Cas’ face. His eyes are shining and his lips are pursed, just a bit, just enough to let Dean know that he’s holding back strong emotions. When Dean smiles, a bit more tremulously than he’d like to admit, Cas beams back at him.

Once Claire has declared herself ready, Dean goes into her little bedroom. He carefully steps around the pallet on the floor where Cas sleeps so he can sit on the edge of her bed, looking down at her angelic, sleepy face. Her hair is spilled out across the pillow, and the blankets are down by her waist.

Gently, Dean brings the covers up to just beneath her chin and makes a show of tucking them around her shoulders until she giggles. He smiles down at her and smoothes her hair away from her face.

“Good night, pup. Sleep tight.”

Before he can move away, she surges up toward him and throws her arms around his neck. Her splint hits him on the back of the head, but he barely notices because she also presses a wet, clumsy kiss to his cheek.

“Love you, alpha,” she whispers, then falls back down and burrows herself under the blankets.

Dean’s heart is thundering in his chest. He wants to put a hand to his cheek, he wants to run out of the room (an instinct he ruthlessly squashes out), he wants to curl himself around her and promise her every single thing he can think of.

Instead of doing any of that, he whispers, “Love you, too, Claire.” He leans down to press a kiss to her temple. She hums happily, and he manages to get out of the room before the wildly roiling emotions in his scent disturb her.

Cas is standing just outside of the room, tears in his eyes. “Oh, Dean, I-”

“Cas, I-”

Cas laughs softly when they try to whisper over each other, then says, “Kiss me, alpha,” affection and warmth thick in his voice.

The bottom drops out from Dean’s stomach, and he stares at Cas for just a beat before his body catches up to the words, and he wastes no more time pulling Cas close to him.

Cas’ mouth is firm, warm, and everything Dean has been daydreaming of. They kiss for a long time, slow and gentle, tender and sweet. There’s no heat in it, not now, with both of them so emotional.

When they finally part for more than a moment, Cas whispers, “I want.. I don’t want… Dean, I don’t want to sleep in Claire’s room anymore, but I don’t want you to move to the living room.”

Dean stares down at the omega in his arms and tries very hard to keep whatever he’s feeling out of his scent. He must not do a very good job, because Cas blushes scarlet so fast Dean worries he’ll swoon into a dead faint.

“We can’t, I don’t want to… Do _ that,” _ Cas whispers, eyes darting up to meet Dean’s then down to stare at his chest, “but my bed, and we can-”

Dean kisses him again, unable to contain himself. “We’ll just sleep, darlin’,” he whispers huskily. “Nothing else, I swear it.”

Cas’ smile makes Dean’s heart thump even harder in his chest.

* * *

A short time later, Dean finds himself in Cas’ bed, his chest pressed against Cas’ slim back where he’s curled around the omega. Cas fell asleep rather quickly, but Dean finds himself fighting the urge to drop off into slumber. He wants to savor every moment of having Cas in his arms, replay every part of the last several days, relive the way Claire whispered that she loves him. Just in case it’s all a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Cas just blushes this whole damn chapter. I'm trash and I have no regrets.


	12. Chapter Twelve

The next few days pass in a cozy haze. Claire is just as affectionate and clingy with Dean as she is with Cas now, always touching one of them somehow. Cas, too, touches Dean more often. Not as often as the pup, but little touches here and there. A brush of their fingers, standing close enough that their shoulders press together, a gentle hand on Dean’s arm when they speak.

All of the extra contact is _ amazing, _ and has the added bonus of absolutely smothering Dean in the Novaks’ scent. It also covers him in his own scent. As the days go on, the combined scents start to smell more and more like _ pack, _ like _ home. _

It’s not easy to keep his hands to himself, to keep the kisses he and Cas share short and sweet, but he does it. Mostly because he wants Cas to be in control, to lead the way for every step they take together.

A small part of himself is holding him back, too, and not just for Cas. As much as he wants to throw himself into a new life on this farm, with this omega and this pup, there’s something stopping him.

The truth.

It seems absurd after all they’ve been through together that he has any secrets at all from Cas. He knows that Cas prefers his breakfast bread just this side of burnt, he knows that Claire believes firmly that she will win every footrace she enters. He knows that Claire was a happy baby, and that the wariness that greeted him when he first woke was a defense she uses against _ all _ new people. He knows how delicate and pretty Cas’ ankles are, how Claire will fight getting her hair brushed every morning. He _ knows _ them. How could he think they do not know him in turn?

* * *

_ But they do not, _ an insidious voice whispers to him late at night when he’s in bed with Cas.

_ How could they? You’ve been lying to them since the moment you were coherent enough to speak to Castiel. The only thing they know about you is that you have a brother and that you’re an alpha. _

_ No! They know I love them. _

_ But would they think that knowledge worth a lick if they knew you lie for a living? _ _   
_

_ I _ used _ to lie for a living. _

_ Interesting, then, how you cannot seem to stop. _

Dean never has a proper answer to that.

* * *

He tries to tell himself that it doesn’t matter. The chances of his past catching up to him here are slim to none, really, and what good would it do to tell them, anyway? They both have fought so hard to trust him at all, and he wants to destroy that? For what? So he can sleep easier at night? So Cas will be able to knowingly place his full trust in Dean? So that, gods willing, when they mate, they’ll both go in with their whole selves in the others’ palm?

Is it worth the risk that Cas will want nothing to do with him? Is it worth the risk of breaking the hearts of these two people who have come to mean so much to him?

It’s no question at all, really.

* * *

He waits until it’s late enough that he knows for sure that Claire will be dead asleep. It really wouldn’t do for him to be interrupted now. He might lose his nerve.

_ You’ve faced down more frightening things than telling the man you love the truth. _

_ … No, no I have not. _

“Cas?” he whispers, his voice tight with nerves.

His scent, too, must be a mess, because Cas doesn’t hesitate to press even closer. His scent turns soft, soothing, and Dean can’t help but be comforted, no matter that he doesn’t deserve it.

“What is it?” Cas whispers back. His hand is on Dean’s side, cradling his ribs. Dean finds the touch ridiculously comforting.

“I… I have to tell you something. About… Me.”

Cas’ eyes seem to glow in the scant moonlight coming in through the window. He stays silent, though, clearly waiting for Dean to continue. Dean can’t decide if he’s grateful or not.

“First, if this changes your mind about me staying here, it’s okay. I can be gone before Claire wakes up, or I can stick around to explain it to her. I won’t do anything… Untoward, all right?”

“My goodness,” Cas says after the silence draws on long enough to make it clear that Dean won’t continue until Cas answers him. “What on Earth could you have to tell me?” A soft, teasing smile on that mouth that Dean’s so taken with. “You’re not wanted for murder, are you?”

_ Well, you’re not likely to get a better opening than that. _

“Not… Not for murder, no>”

Cas sobers quickly, his brown furrowing.

“Cas, I told you that Sam and I did a lot of travelling. That much was true, but I… I’m not a farmhand or a salesman. I’m… _ We, _ Sammy and I, we’re…” Dean takes a deep breath. “We’re grifters, Cas.”

Cas stiffens minutely, but doesn’t pull away or speak. Dean takes that as permission to continue.

“The Winchesters have been running cons as long as any of us can remember. It’s all we know. Most of us die pretty ugly, to tell you honest, but our parents died of yellow fever a few years back, so Sam and I took over the family business for good.

“It wasn’t brigands that shot me, it was a mark. Uh, my… Victim, I suppose. He got wise and chased Sam and me out of town on the wrong side of a pistol. That’s why Sam and I split up. We got a system to meet ninety days from the last day we saw each other in the closest town to the closest river. One of us will have a room in the easternmost inn under an assumed name.

“It won’t… It doesn’t make it any better, but we never took from anyone who couldn’t spare it. If we could manage it, we rarely took from anyone who would even notice. But I know that doesn’t help, I just… Want you to know that I was _ never _ running a con on you, Cas, I swear to the gods.”

Cas blinks, frowning. It’s the most emotion he’s shown in the last few minutes, which has Dean sweating bullets.

“I know you weren’t going to steal from me, Dean,” he says finally. “Quite frankly, what would you even steal?”

Dean winces. “Look, Cas, like I said, if you don’t want me sticking around now, I get it. And if…” He swallows hard. “If you hate me, I get that, too. I can go, and I have some gold that should help you out. Unless you don’t want stolen coin, which I suppose I would underst-”

Slender, calloused fingers pressing against his lips effectively silence Dean. he realizes that his gaze has shifted away from Cas and off into the darkness. With an effort, he makes himself meet Cas’ eyes again.

Cas’ gaze is solemn, but not sparkling with hate or anger like Dean would have guessed. His hand moves from covering Dean’s mouth to tenderly cradling his jaw.

“You’re not going anywhere, Dean Winchester,” Cas says firmly. “You’re not going anywhere, or leaving coin behind for us, or explaining _ anything _ to Claire.”

“I-”

“No,” Cas cuts him off, “I’ve let you say your piece, and now I’d like to say mine. He waits until Dean nods to continue.

“I won’t say that this isn’t shocking, or that I don’t understand why you kept this a secret all this time.” Dean winces, but Cas just strokes his jawline gently and keeps going.

“Because I do, really. But Dean, you are not what you do. Or, at least, you are not what you have done in the past. I have never seen you be anything but gentle and kind. The way you care for myself and Claire, the way you plan for our future.”

Cas falls silent for a minute or so, and Dean lets him, loathe to interrupt what almost sounds like the opposite of the dismissal he was expecting.

“You are,” Cas says, “above all, a good man. Maybe you haven’t’ always been, but everyone has a past. My own isn’t squeaky clean, and it would be the height of hypocrisy to demand that of you, alpha.” Another stroke of work-roughened fingers. “My alpha,” he murmurs.

Dean’s heart is thundering away in his chest. There’s so much to parse out. Cas’ seemingly easy acceptance, Cas’ remark about his past, the words “my alpha” on Cas’ lips. There’s just… So much.

“How?” he rasps. It’s all his overwhelmed mind has to offer.

Cas smiles, sweet and soft. “I am not without my faults, Dean, but if you still want to be here, still want _ us, _ then I want you here. Maybe not as…” he touches his neck where the neckline of his gown reveals the vicious scarring leftover from Michael’s failed attempts at mating. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to be ready to mate again, Dean, but I want you here with us. With _ me.” _

Dean can’t stand it any longer. He tries to move slowly, to be as delicate as he has been before, but the kiss he presses to Castiel’s luscious mouth is passionate and wanting without his express consent.

He shouldn’t have underestimated his omega, though, because Cas responds beautifully. The hand still resting on Dean’s face slides back to clench in his hair, and Cas arches his back to press closer to Dean. Without thinking, since his higher brain function has deserted him, he rolls them so he’s pressing Castiel down into the mattress. He panics for a brief moment that he’s gone too far, but Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and pulls him back down into another hot kiss.

Cas feels so _ good, _ so _ right _ beneath Dean. Where Dean has thick, hard-packed muscle, Cas has some give. Not a lot, he has some lean muscle of his own, but there’s enough softness to highlight their differences and it drives Dean wild. Where Dean’s scent is heavy and thick with arousal, Cas’ is airy and sweet with the same, though no less heady.

Just as Dean is preparing to pull back, to ask what Cas wants, to maybe grind down on the lovely omega beneath him to see what noises he can draw out, there’s a knock on the bedroom door.

Dean freezes, and feels Cas do the same.

A small, shaky voice calls out, “Papa? Alpha?”

With an apologetic look as Dean moves off of him, Cas says, “Come in, little one.”

The door opens to reveal Claire in her nightgown, a miniature of Cas’ own, her hair a wild cloud around her tear-streaked face. Arousal has never fled Dean so quickly.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he whispers urgently.

With a whimper, she throws herself across the room. She clambers up onto the bed and collapses into Dean’s arms. Blindly, she flails behind her so she can get a fistful of Cas’ nightgown and tug him close until she’s squashed between the two of them.

Dean feels a bit frantic as he rocks all of them gently back and forth, but Cas is remarkably calm.

“Little one,” he whispers in Claire’s ear, “what’s wrong, little love?”

Without moving her face from where it’s hidden against Dean’s chest, she starts babbling incoherently between sobs. Dean can’t make out much more than the words “bad dream.” He gently kisses the top of her head and makes sure to hold her closely, securely.

Cas seems to hear more, though, and he’s nodding. “That does seem frightening, and I’m sorry you dreamed about it. But I know a secret. Would you like to know what it is?”

Claire stills, then nods slowly. Cas tugs her way from Dean, just far enough that she’s looking up at him.

“You know that Dean is our alpha, right?” Cas asks, voice low in Claire’s ear. Dean feels his heart skip a beat at that, then again at the way Claire nods without hesitation.

“Well, our alpha just told me that he's going to stay with us forever,” Cas says, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He’s whispering to the pup, but his eyes are just for Dean.

“He _ is?!” _ Claire whispers back, her own eyes wide as she stares up at him.

“Sure am, pup,” Dean says, his voice rough with the wild ride of emotions he’s been on in the last hour.

“And the best part,” Cas continues, “is that our big, strong alpha would _ never _ let anything happen to you, little one. He loves us too much.”

Claire’s sweet pup scent has evened out. It goes sweeter with relief and happiness, and she manages a watery smile.

“Promise?”

Dean’s hands tighten on her tiny body where he’s holding her, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“I do,” he rasps. “I promise, pup. Nothing’s going to happen to you or your papa as long as I’m around, and I plan to be around for a long, long time.”

“For _ forever?” _ she asks in awe.

“Forever and _ ever,” _ he vows, as serious as promise as he’s ever made to anyone.

Claire giggles and writhes in happiness. She cuddles close and pulls Cas with her. She doesn’t stop pulling and pushing them to her whim until she’s satisfied, which leaves all of them hopelessly tangled up in blankets and one another.

When she finally slips back into slumber, Cas leans up to kiss Dean gently, chastely. A reminder of the affection flowing freely between the two of them.

“Good night, alpha.”

Dean grins in the darkness.

“Good night, omega.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I gave myself cavities there at the end of this chapter, no lie.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_ Sam, _

_ I’m sending this letter to that cute omega Jess that I’m _ _ sure _ _ you remember from the last time we were in Kansas City. The way you followed her around like a lost pup, I’m willing to wager that she remembers you, too. Hopefully, she liked you enough to pass it along. _

_ I know it will get there on time, but I don’t know which day I’m supposed to be in Kansas City for sure. Cas doesn’t remember what day I got to him, and I don’t remember how long I travelled before getting to him. _

_ Cas is why I’m sending you a letter before I go out to Kansas City. He’s an omega who cared for me after I was injured, and he and his pup have a farm out here in the Kansas territory. _

_ I’m going to stay with them, Sam. _

_ There’s a lot to tell you, but I know you’ll be all right with hanging up the “lifestyle,” as it were. Maybe even hanging it up with Jess? _

_ See you in Kansas City, sometime around the 90th day. _

_ Dean _

* * *

For the most part, Dean has always liked cities. As far as his job went, cities typically meant more marks, more work, and more opportunities for money. Personally, too, he’s never minded being in a crowd. He’s a big man, a handsome one, too. His scent is that of a strong, fertile alpha. He’s never had a problem in crowds or cities.

It’s possible, then, that his current discomfort is from the time he’s spent with Cas on his farm, isolated as they are. Or, perhaps, that any appreciative glances are no longer quite as welcome as they once were, courting Cas as he is.

He thinks it has much more to do with the hissed gossip and not-quite-whispers of Cas’ name that follow him wherever he and Impala go, though.

He was a stranger the first time he road through town, someone with no association to gossip about, anyway. Add to that the fact that he was galloping down the main road, cradling an injured pup, and his scent was a mess of fear and anger, no one much bothered them until they got to the doctor’s office and his nasty office omega spoke to Dean.

Now, however, it appears that the gloves have come off.

When Dean let him know that he’d have to go into town to mail Sam’s letter, Cas told him that he would hear gossip and rumors. He told him that, especially since Michael disappeared, no one in town has been overly concerned with whether or not Cas can hear them when they talk about him.

“There’s a reason I don’t take Claire into town, Dean, and a reason that Mick comes and takes the orders back and forth for us. Stop that rumbling, alpha, you know Mick is just a nice young man! My point is that I doubt the townsfolk are going to care much one way or another if they’ve only met you the once, they’re still going to gossip right in front of you, if not right _ at _ you. You mustn’t let it bother you, Dean. You must hold your head high and ignore them, and… Well, it might be for the best if your visit is brief.”

Dean has to fall back on the training he got from his mother and father to heed Cas’ advice, but heed it he does. Any time he hears Cas’ name spoken loud enough for him to hear on horseback, he cocks an eyebrow but doesn’t make more of a fuss than that. He ignores the muttered accusations he hears and rides straight down the main road like he owns the whole damn town.

The post office worker, at least, is polite enough to his face. A mild-mannered beta, the man’s eyes are knowing when he posts the letter, but he doesn’t say anything offensive or cruel outright.

_ Might be that’s the best I can expect from now on, _ Dean thinks dryly to himself.

As he steps out of the post office, intent on getting right back on Impala and riding out of this hellish little town, there’s an alpha he doesn’t recognize standing next to her. Impala is smarter than most horses (smarter than most men, really), and a big one at that, so Dean is not particularly concerned that she is going to be harmed or stolen. She’s alert but relaxed, aware of the invader to her personal space, but not panicked or worried. Dean takes his cue from her, since she’s never steered him wrong, and keeps his posture as non-threatening as possible.

The man is almost of a height with Dean and has a bland face, and there’s a silver sheriff’s badge pinned to his shirt. The horse tied to the post next to Impala, presumably this man’s, is a bit older, but well taken care of for all that.

“Sheriff,” Dean says genially, “Fine day we’re having.”

The man looks Dean up and down, much like he had Impala, and doesn’t smile. “Hmm.”

Dean doesn’t let it crack his composure. “Something I can help you with, then?”

The other alpha steps toward Dean, just one step, but it’s enough. His stance, at odds with Dean’s own, is all alpha challenge and authoritative. Dean knows a man with an agenda when he sees one (especially since he’s spent so much time with an agenda of his own).

“What’s your name, son?” the sheriff asks, though he’s probably not nearly old enough to address Dean that way.

“Dean Winchester,” he replies coolly. His name has never been attached to any of his crimes since he uses an alias, and he doesn’t want to start off this interaction by lying to the sheriff of Cas’ hometown. _ His _ hometown, now.

“Well, Dean, I’m the sheriff ‘round here, my name’s Arthur Ketch. I’ve been hearing that you’ve been spending some time out at the Novak farm, is that right?”

Only long practice keeps the growl off of Dean’s face and out of his voice. “Yessir, it is.”

“Well, I’m sure you heard about Novak’s… Previous mates.”

Dean can’t help how stiff his voice gets. “I’ve heard about the _ several _ tragedies Castiel has had to face, yessir.” Impala snorts and shakes her head, responding to the irritation in Dean’s words. He struggles to reel himself back in, but everything about Ketch just _ screams _ the kind of alpha that Dean has always despised. Too enamored with the strength and benefits nature gave him to worry about the fact that he did nothing to earn them, has done nothing to prove himself more or less worthy than anyone else.

Actually, men like him have always made perfect marks, and it’s a bit of a fight to keep from falling into old habits as well as to keep from doing some posturing of his own

Ketch, too, snorts a bit. _ “Tragedies, _ right. Listen, son, have you seen anything… _ Suspicious _ out on Novak’s farm?” His eyes squint as if trying to see through Dean. Dean has always found this particular habit rather amusing. In his experience, one has never had to go any further than looking at the surface to know if a man is lying.

“Any food that tastes a bit off?” Ketch continues. “Any places ‘round there that it might be a little _ too _ easy to have yourself an accident? Perhaps-”

“I haven’t seen _ anything _ out of the ordinary,” Dean grits out, his amusement fading fast. Rumors and gossip are one thing, a nasty, unnecessary thing, but people are people. Accusing Cas of murder directly to Dean’s face, however, is something else entirely, and Dean finds himself almost unable and entirely unwilling to hold back his aggression any longer.

“Not _ only _ has Cas been perfectly gracious and lovely, he quite handily saved my life when I rode up. I’ve grown quite fond of him and his pup, and I don’t think I like what you’re implying... _ Sheriff,” _ he adds, a beat too late and with a sneer. 

Sheriff ketch holds his hands up as if in surrender. “Now, now, no need to get heated, I’m not implying anything. Just saying that alphas seem to have _ awfully _ bad luck out there. It would be a shame to see a fella like yourself get hurt.”

“I can take care of myself,” Dean says, just a hint of a growl beneath the words. He stalks past the sheriff, unties Impala, and swings himself up into her saddle smoothly. “You’d do well, sheriff, to keep _ concerns _ like this to yourself,” he says as he tugs at Impala’s reins. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get the idea that you’re picking and choosing which citizens of this fine township you’re here to protect.”

He turns Impala and she trots briskly down the street before Ketch can respond.

* * *

Dean asks Cas about Ketch as soon as he’s back home. Claire is out in the stable, babbling happily to Impala about her day while Impala munches oats and lets her ears swivel toward the girl.

“He and Michael were friends,” Cas says as he gently washes herbs from the garden. “He thinks that I… _ Did _ something to him, I believe.”

Dean scoffs from his place at the table. “That’s ridiculous!”

Cas turns enough to cock an eyebrow at Dean. He’s strikingly lovely in the afternoon sunshine coming through the window, with a clean white shirt rolled up this elbows and breeches that would be distractingly snug if Dean wasn’t so worked up about his interaction with the sheriff.

“And why, pray tell, is it so unthinkable?”

“Well, Cas, be-because you’re _ you!” _ Dean splutters. “You don’t even smash _ wasps. _ You wouldn’t hurt anyone, no matter how much they deserved it!”

Cas’ eyes are luminous and unreadable. “Not because I’m an omega?”

“Cas, the first night I was here, you threatened my life and I _ believed _ you. Being an omega’s got nothing to do with it, it’s all about you, darlin’.”

Cas smirks, but his scent is light and sweet with giddy happiness. Dean doesn’t understand why, but he likes making Cas happy, so he lets Ketch fade to the back of his mind.

* * *

They’re getting into bed after tucking Claire in and Dean’s mind is on Kansas City. He’s trying to remember if there’s a good place where he can go talk to farmers, or maybe to purchase seed. He knows enough about farming to get by, but he doesn’t want to just _ get by _ here, he wants their little pack to _ flourish. _

So he’s taken quite by surprise when, instead of pressing his back into Dean’s chest as he’s done every time they’ve slept side by side, Cas’ front is pressed to Dean, and he’s looking up at him with a mixture of determination and trepidation that has Dean’s thoughts scattering immediately.

It is not, after all, the first time someone has looked at Dean with such unadulterated _ want _ in their eyes, though it’s the first time he’s wanted the other back so badly.

“Dean,” Cas says softly, “I love you.”

Dean’s brain stutters to a halt. 

“Now, I don’t expect that you’re ready to say it back,” Cas is going on, “but I wanted you to know. You’re so good to Claire and I, and you’ve been wonderful from the moment you woke up, you’ve been so patient, and I just wanted you to know how I-”

“I love you, too,” Dean says in a rush, almost a gasp, a relief to finally have the words out loud, hanging in the air between them. “Cas, of course I do, you know that.”

It’s too dark to tell if Cas is blushing, but Dean is a betting man, and he thinks his omega’s cheeks are a rosy color right now. It’s driving his inner alpha wild.

“Well, I suspected, or, well, I suppose I _ hoped, _ and I-”

Dean can’t spend one more godsforsaken moment without his lips on Cas’. He kisses the omega gently, tempering his own need by reminding himself harshly that Cas isn’t ready, that Cas doesn’t want to anything more than kiss and be held. Dean is _ fine _ with that, and he really is more than happy to give Cas whatever he needs, but he does need to angle his hips away from Cas to make sure the omega doesn’t feel pressured or awkward or-

Or _ nothing, _ since as Dean moves away, Cas moves with him, pressing all along his front. _ All _ along his front, so that he can feel Cas’ rapidly hardening interest against his own.

Dean can smell his own scent go flat with surprise before absolutely _ flooding _ the room with alpha pheromones, with want, desire, and heat as he growls at the feelings swirling in his chest. Cas whimpers quite fetchingly and moves his hips in a way that Dean frankly thinks should be quite illegal, grinding himself against Dean. His scent, too, is thick with arousal and want. Dean wants to eat him alive.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, his hands instinctively landing on Cas’ hips, “I-”

“We’ll have to be quick,” Cas whispers hotly, his mouth pressed to Dean’s cheek, “and we’ll have to be quiet, but I want you, alpha. I can’t stand it anymore, I-”

Dean doesn’t need to hear any more. With a growl, he rolls them so Cas is on his back, his legs spread sweetly for Dean as he grinds down on his omega like he’s been dreaming about doing for _ weeks. _

_ “Omega,” _ he growls, his lip twitching with possessiveness and desire.

_ “Dean!” _ Cas cries out softly before biting his lip and gripping Dean’s arms hard enough to leave little half-moon marks that Dean can admire and preen over later. _ “Please, _ alpha.”

“Someday,” Dean murmurs darkly as he kisses and nips his way down Cas’ neck, “I’m going to take my time with you.” In direct opposition to his words, he hikes Cas’ nightgown up, bunching it around Cas’ hips to reveal all of the lovely, pale skin Dean could ever possibly want. Cas gasps as he’s bared, but doesn’t so much as twitch in protest.

“I’m going to take you _ apart, _ darlin’,” Dean drawls. He runs a hand from Cas’ knee _ (gods, his legs) _ up his inner thigh, where the flesh is pale as cream and so, so soft. “You’ll forget everything but my name and my knot, sweetheart.”

_ “Yes,” _ Cas hisses, writhing, “please!”

Dean takes a moment to lean back and drink in the sight of Cas, letting his own desire mount even more as he does so. Cas’ cock is a good handful, maybe a bit bigger than the average omega’s. It’s hard, as hard as Dean feels, and curved up towards Cas’ flat belly, framed by the way the fabric of his nightgown is creased and crushed over Cas’ abdomen.

There are, of course, the old silver lines of stretch marks starting at Cas’ hips, at his inner thighs, and Dean knows he’ll find more on Cas’ belly when they’re able to be completely bare for one another. Far from a flaw, they add to Cas’ beauty, they’re signs of how strong his omega is, how his omega carried one pup and will be able to, someday, carry Dean’s own pups, too.

That, however, is a conversation for a time when Cas’ thick scent isn’t coating Dean’s nose and throat, when Dean isn’t hard enough to pound nails, and when Cas’ mouth isn’t begging to be ravaged as much as the rest of him.

Dean falls forward again to kiss Cas harshly, eagerly swallowing the whine Cas gives him. He wraps his hand around Cas’ cock and strokes him slowly once, twice, teasing him when he knows what Cas really wants. He can _ smell it. _

“Dean,” Cas whispers against his mouth, “I’m so _ wet _ for you, can you feel it?”

Dean shudders and closes his eyes against the mischievous heat in Cas’ gaze. He slowly releases Cas’ cock, ignoring the needy noise from the back of the omega’s throat, and slowly trails his hand down until he’s circling Cas’ entrance, already wet enough to coat the tips of Dean’s fingers.

Dean fiercely wishes it was the middle of the day so he could lay Cas out in the sunshine to see every bit of him, or even that he was willing to separate from Cas long enough to light a lantern to see by. Since it’s not and he’d rather die than move even an inch away from Cas, he has to make do with sinking one finger into his omega and enjoying the way Cas’ bak arches and his breath catches. 

Dean lays a sweet kiss next to Cas’ ear, just above his jaw. “Is that what you wanted, darlin’?” he whispers. “Gods, you _ are _ wet, so pretty for me, Cas.”

Cas whines again and Dean adds another finger, stretching Cas a bit to account for his own girth. He’s not the _ biggest, _ he knows, but it must have been a while for Cas, and even so, he’s enjoying watching his omega squirm on his fingers _ immensely. _

Finally, an eternity and a third finger later, Cas loses his patience. _ “Dean,” _ he growls.

Dean laughs gently, not mocking, and pulls his _ drenched _ fingers out of Cas. He nuzzles Cas face, besotted with the way that, even when Cas is irate with him, he still presses into each touch and wraps his arms around Dean’s neck to keep him close.

Dean quickly fumbles his own pants off, shoving them down just far enough to release his cock from their confines. With the pup in the house, he’s pushed his luck quite enough already when it comes to time.

He guides the tip of his cock to press against Cas’ hole, but doesn’t go any further. He pulls away just enough to look Cas in the eye.

His omega is a _ mess. _ Cas is covered in a fine, lovely sheen of sweat. His hair is fluffy and messy, as always, with strands sticking to his forehead and neck here and there. His eyes are huge and dark, staring up at Dean with just as much hungry gravity as Dean is looking down at him with.

“Cas,” Dean whispers, “are you certain?” He would have to go dunk himself in a cold river to do it, but if Cas told him to stop, he’d find the strength to do so.

_ “Dean,” _ Cas says, fond exasperation coloring his tone. “Please, _ please _ take me. I’m already yours.”

The words burrow themselves deep into Dean’s heart, where they’ll stay forever, protected by his ribs and keeping his heart beating steadily for the omega beneath him. He kisses Cas hard, fiercely, and he slowly sinks into him.

When his hips are finally flush with Cas’ behind and he’s sheathed to the hilt in Cas’ silky heat, Dean braces himself to stay still while Cas adjusts. He’s still fairly well-endowed, and Cas really _ hasn’t _ had many lovers, so Dean wants to-

Cas, however, has other plans, _ apparently, _ because he clenches around Dean, sending his self-control and his thoughts and possibly his soul all to hell.

_ “Cas,” _ Dean growls.

_ “Move, _ alpha,” Cas growls back impatiently. Hearing that gravelly voice get even deeper, soaked in desire, sends a shudder up Dean’s spine, and he’s suddenly helpless to do anything but obey.

He tries, for the sake of his own conscience, to go slowly, but Cas is having none of that, either. After the first few tentative thrusts, Cas _ rolls his eyes, _ the cheeky thing, and rakes his nails down Dean’s back harshly. Dean growls, overcome _ again, _ and starts to fuck into Cas like the omega seems to want him to.

It’s only a moment or two before Dean covers Cas’ mouth with his own, swallowing Cas’ whimpers and cries as they get louder and longer. With one hand he holds himself braced above Cas, and the other he holds Cas’ hip in a firm grip, keeping the omega exactly where he wants him as he pounds into him.

Cas’ thighs cling to Dean’s hips and his fingers are still scrabbling at his back. Dean finds an angle that makes Cas absolutely _ wail _ into his mouth, and after hurriedly hushing him, proceeds to pound at that exact spot mercilessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin seems obscenely loud.

Dean can feel his orgasm building at the base of his spine and his knot starting to grow. He won’t knot Cas, not like this, not for their first time. He desperately wants Cas to come first, however, wants to feel him rippling around his cock.

“C’mon, darlin’,” Dean growls directly into Cas’ ear, making the omega whine again. He lets go of Cas’ hip to grip his cock and starts stroking him hard and fast, relishing the way Cas’ entire body clenches. “Come for me.”

It only takes a few strokes for Cas’ back to arch hard enough that it _ must _ hurt and for him to come, painting himself and his nightgown in stripes of white. Dean covers Cas’ mouth with his again just in time to catch his soft, needy cries as Dean milks his orgasm from him. It’s only a few _ more _ moments before Dean follows Cas over the edge. He remembers, barely, to pull out and come across Cas’ softening cock and belly instead of knotting him. A deep, primal part of Dean is going _ wild _ at the thought of marking his omega in this way, and it prolongs his orgasm until he’s shuddering and gasping into Cas’ neck. 

He pulls himself back with an effort. Cas looks flushed and sated, looking up at Dean through heavily lidded eyes with a soft smile on his face and making no effort to move at all. Dean is helpless to do anything but lean down to nuzzle at him, scentmarking him even more and kissing all across his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, and finally down this mouth.

“Alpha,” Cas sighs happily.

Dean needs to get something to clean them up with. He needs to open the window to clear out some of the heavy scent before Claire inevitably comes knocking early in the morning. He needs to get Cas a new nightgown out of the dresser and maybe take his soiled _ (marked) _ one out to scrub before Claire wakes up.

But Cas’ arms are still around his neck and his legs are still cradling Dean’s hips possessively. Cas is painfully beautiful like this, pliant and radiating warmth. Dean’s heart clenches.

He kisses Cas again. “I love you,” he whispers.

Cas beams up at him, unselfconscious and beautiful. “And I, you, alpha.”

Yes, Dean will move in _ just _ a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Look! Smut! Finally!


	14. Chapter Fourteen

When Dean slowly rises out of slumber the next morning, weak sunlight is filtering through the window to lay lovingly across a still sleeping Castiel. The omega is draped over Dean’s chest, his face peaceful and unlined. He looks younger like this, free of burden or worry, and it puts a heavy feeling of contentment in Dean’s heart.

Adding to that feeling is Claire, who’s curled into his side, her face smashed into his ribs. One of his arms is wrapped around her tiny back. There’s a heartbreaking level of trust in her posture, the way she’s pressed against him with her back exposed, knowing instinctively that he’ll protect her.

Very soon, his little pack will wake to start tending the farm. Claire will need to be dressed and her hair braided, which she will refuse to sit still for. Eggs will need to be gathered, coffee brewed, and livestock seen to before breakfast can be made.

All of that will need to be done, true, but not this instant. Dean closes his eyes and holds his pack closer to let everyone sleep for a few more minutes.

* * *

Now that Dean has touched Cas, he can’t seem to stop. His hands are drawn to those slim hips, strong arms, and pretty face. He can’t help but want to touch every inch of his omega every moment of the day.

Admittedly, he doesn’t try very hard to stop.

The early afternoon finds him wrapped around Cas from behind. His arms encircle Cas’ waist and keep him pressed close to Dean’s front. Dean’s chin is propped on Cas’ shoulder and he’s shamelessly watching the muscles in the omega’s forearms as he finishes washing the dishes. His own chores for the day are done already, with the upcoming storm making all of them hustle through the morning, so he has nothing to do but touch Cas.

He’s delighting in Cas’ scent when a thunderclap sounds overhead, close enough to rattle the windows. Cas’ scent goes sharp with real fear for a brief moment before evening out again. Dean tightens his arms and nuzzles the space just behind Cas’ ear.

“Scared of thunderstorms, darlin’?” he drawls.

“... Something like that, yes.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

* * *

Dinner is a tense, mostly silent affair that night. Dean didn’t realize quite  _ how _ afraid Cas is of storms. He’s been wound as tight as piano wire, jumpy as hell, and snippy with both Dean and Claire. Dean doesn’t hold it against him, he just takes Claire to the living room to play quietly while Cas cleans the kitchen.

After that, they prepare the farm for the storm. Cas says it’s going to be a bad one, and with all of the animals acting just as spooked as Cas himself is, Dean believes him.

Even once it’s all done and the three of them are in their separate beds (Cas insisted that Claire sleep in her bed since her room doesn’t have a window), Dean doesn’t fall asleep easily. He runs through the checklist he has in his head, the one that Cas put there, as he lies in bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

_ The chickens are locked in the coop. Impala and the cow are locked in the barn. The traps are in the shed and they’re all accounted for. Same for all of the tools. The windows are shuttered and locked. The front door is locked and barred. _

He tries to drift to sleep, but it’s only a few silent seconds before he starts in again.

_ The chickens are locked in the coop. Impala and the cow are locked in the barn… _

With his mind on a loop and Cas stiff with fear in his arms, it takes a long time for Dean to fall into an uneasy slumber.

* * *

Another deafening thunderclap jolts Dean out of sleep. He’s disoriented for a moment before the sound of pounding rain on the roof reminds him of the storm, of where he is.

He reaches across the bed for Cas to comfort him, certain that he must be scared out of his mind. His hand is met with cold bedsheets, and his mind clears when he realizes that he’s in bed alone and that Cas must have been gone for quite a while for the bed to be cold.

A bolt of panic makes its way down his spine.  _ He must be comforting Claire, _ he assures himself as he hurries off of the bed and out of the bedroom, unconcerned that he’s in pajamas.  _ Poor things must be terrified. _

When he gets to Claire’s room and quietly opens the door, however, he’s met with the sight of Claire, sleeping soundly, and no Cas at all. 

His panic seems much more justified now, and he barely manages to shut the door quietly before he darts into the main part of the house. It’s empty of his omega, too, and nothing  _ seems _ to have been disturbed, except that the front door is no longer barred.

Without stopping for a coat or boots, Dean runs out the door into the pouring rain.

He’s soaked instantly and he can hardly see at all. The rushing water all around him has washed the world completely of any scents besides that of rain and wet earth, so he can’t even properly track where Cas might have gone  _ (might have been taken, no, no, I would have woken for that). _ He runs around the side of the house, blind instinct leading him.

And there, finally, is Cas, kneeling in the rose garden. He doesn’t have a coat on, either, and his nightgown is plastered to his skin. He seems to be digging, rearranging the flowers frantically, almost haphazardly. Gone is the care he usually has for the blooms and it looks like he’s just shoveling randomly through the dirt.

Dean relaxes, even in such terrible weather and presented with such out of character behavior from Cas. He doesn’t know if this is just blind panic or genuine worry about their livelihood, but either way, it’s not safe to be outside right now. He knows what the garden means to Cas, how fiercely proud he is of it, but anything lost in the storm can be recreated.

Anything but Castiel himself.

“Cas!” Dean shouts, making his way carefully through the puddles and mud to his omega. “Cas, sweetheart, come inside!” 

Cas shows no signs of hearing him, so Dean continues to approach.

“Cas! The roses will be fine! I’ll help you with any damage, but I-”

Dean’s world comes to a crashing halt as he finally gets close enough to get a good look at what Castiel is doing.

He never spent much time or attention on the rose garden. Cas has always been so protective of it, there never seemed to be a need to do so. Cas had it covered and didn’t want Dean’s help, and that was all Dean needed to know.

_ Maybe, _ he thinks semi-hysterically, _ there was a reason for that. _

There, a few inches from where Cas is frantically digging, is something sticking straight up from the ground. Maybe if it wasn’t raining so hard that everything was instantly soaked, Dean wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance what it is, but it is, and he can.

It’s a boot, a  _ big _ boot, wrapped in canvas. Suddenly, the little raise in the earth looks much more sinister.

“... Cas?” Dean says softly, confused.

Somehow,  _ that’s _ what Cas hears. The omega whips around to stare at Dean with wide, frightened eyes.

“Dean! What-”

“Cas!” Dean shouts, coming to kneel next to Cas, trying to move slowly enough not to spook him but not looking anywhere but the boot that’s in front of him. He’s sure he’s trampling roses as he goes, but he can’t bring himself to care overmuch. Even now, as confused and a bit frightened as he is, the need to be closer to Cas overrides everything else.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on?” He has to shout to be heard over the storm. He finally looks up at Cas, who looks tired and scared.

Cas’ eyes are wide as they dart from Dean’s face down to the boot protruding from the earth. “Dean, I don’t-”

Dean fumbles around until he finds Cas’ hand. It’s clenched in a fist around the trowel, but Dean wraps his fingers gently, lovingly around Cas’ thin wrist, an offer of comfort, warmth, solidarity.

“Sweetheart, just tell me what’s going on.”

Slowly, Cas' hand releases the trowel. It drops into the puddle that's formed at their knees, splashing mud up onto Dean's pants and Cas' nightgown, but all of Dean's attention is focused on Cas’ haggard face.

"I…" His voice is almost too low to hear over the rain all around them. “I didn’t mean to… I just…”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs just loud enough to be heard.

Cas’ shoulders heave in a sob and he collapses into Dean. Dean wraps his arms around him and twists so he’s sitting on the ground with his omega between his splayed legs. His pants are immediately soaked, but it’s a distant concern, unimportant. Cas turns to press his face into Dean’s neck. It muffles his voice more, but Dean would rather die than let him go even an inch farther away.

“When… When the blood bond didn’t take, Michael started to become violent. He hit me often, and he d-didn’t care if it was somewhere easy to hide or not. I kept him away from Claire as much as possible, and I stayed home so no one in town would know. It would… It would have been so much worse if anyone in town had found out.”

Cas’ breath hitches and he starts to cry in earnest through his words. Dean ducks his head so Cas’ mouth is closer to his ear so he can at least sort of hear what Cas is saying.

“B-but I c-came in from the g-garden one day when she was little, she was so  _ little, _ Dean, only two, and he h-h-hit her, he was h-hitting her across the face, and her l-l-little body just flew across the room and she was c-c-crying and I didn’t know what to do and I got so a-a-angry with him that he would dare to hit  _ m-my pup, _ so I… I hit him. I picked up the iron skillet from the counter and I hit him on the head, and then I, I couldn’t  _ stop _ hitting him, he  _ hit _ my  _ baby!” _ he finishes with a wail before throwing his arms around Dean’s neck, turning to press fully against him.

Cas cries for a while and Dean lets him, cradling him there in the rain. He never once considers getting up or taking them inside, he just holds his omega, his mate without a bite, tight to his chest.

Finally, a long time later, Cas continues, though he stays close against Dean.

“I didn’t… I took Claire into her bedroom and made sure she was asleep b-before I took… Before I took Michael… Before I took him out of the house. I wasn’t… I wasn’t working as often then, and I didn’t… I couldn’t drag him..  _ It, _ the body, I couldn’t drag it very far, but the garden… The soil is soft, it’s kept soft for the roses, so it was easy to put him under there and cover him. I… I buried him there, and it’s so easy to keep him there because I work it every day. It’s… It’s terrible, but knowing where he is, even though it’s right underneath us, I know he can’t  _ hurt _ us again, hurt  _ Claire _ again, it’s awful but it’s  _ good, _ knowing where he is and I know it’s terrible and that  _ I’m _ terrible, and that everything they say in town about me is  _ true, _ but I-”

“Hey, hey, darlin’,” Dean murmurs, cupping Cas’ head and pressing a kiss to his temple. “Shh, shh, you’re all right, sweetheart, you’re okay. You’re not terrible, Cas.”

Cas’ eyes are red and swollen, and though Dean can’t see the tear tracks through the rain dripping down his face, he aches to wipe them away. Cas is hurting so obviously when he’s normally so stoic and it’s  _ killing _ Dean.

“I swear, Dean, everything else I’ve ever told you is true. I sent his horse to the woods and I sold it when they brought it back. I really  _ did _ start selling the roses after he died so we wouldn’t need anyone else. I just…” Cas’ breath stutters again. “I didn’t know what to  _ do, _ Dean, he never would have… He hit  _ Claire, _ and it would have gotten  _ worse, _ he never would have stopped and I couldn’t let him-”

“Shh, shh,” Dean interrupts, wrapping his arms tight around Cas again and pulling him tight to his chest. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s all right. You did good, Cas, I’m proud of you, you did so good. I’m gonna take care of it, it’s over, Cas. It’s over, I’ve got you, omega. I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys: "Haha! Michael is totally under the roses! Teehee!"
> 
> Me: 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Claire’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates the next morning.

“You mean… Papa, you mean _ no chores?” _

Cas’ smile is tight and disingenuous, but Claire doesn’t seem to notice, thank the gods. “That’s right, little one. No chores _ at all _ today.”

“What are we going to _ do?” _ the pup asks reverently.

Despite everything going on, Dean’s lips twitch upwards into a smile. Cas, too, relaxes a fraction, and they share an amused glance over her head.

“Well,” Cas says, “I thought we’d start the day with a story over breakfast, how does that sound?”

_ “Yay!” _ Claire’s shriek sets Dean’s ears to ringing, but he smiles down at her when she turns in her seat to beam at him.

“Dean! Did you hear that? Papa’s going to read us a _ story! _ During _ breakfast!” _

“I heard.” He smooths a hand down her hair, left flowing in the deference to the unusual day ahead of them. “I have to take care of a few things, but I’ll join you and your papa as soon as I can.”

Something in her must sense the gravity of the situation, because instead of arguing she just nods.

“Yes, alpha.”

* * *

Assured that Cas is entertaining Claire far away from the windows, Dean puts on the most ragged clothing he owns and goes to take care of that bastard, Michael.

He does some damage to the garden, but it’s unavoidable. The garden is big enough that the hit it takes won’t be too noticeable, anyway, and Dean will do his best to make it up to Cas.

The smell of the body is both worse and better than Dean expected. It’s been years, so only a hint of real decay remains, but it’s enough to make him gag several times while he pulls the body up from the ground. He rewraps the canvas to make sure it’s secure before he moves it.

He takes it out to the woods behind the farm. He walks for a long time, until the sun’s position in the sky is much changed, before he feels comfortable stopping. It would be a _ nightmare _ if Claire stumbled across the body where she was playing someday, so he wants it _ far _ away from their home.

He also wants it far away from Cas.

Once the shock wore off the night before, Dean felt nothing but pride for his omega. He knows damn well that even if Cas had gone to someone in town about how Michael was treating him, small towns like this one aren’t the most sympathetic to mistreated omegas. The way they react to Cas or anything to do with him, even now, is proof enough of that.

Cas was in an impossible situation even before Michael laid a hand on Claire.

Just the idea of it makes Dean’s vision hazy with rage, and he has to stop to collect himself. Bad enough that he was hitting _ Cas, _which Cas would have killed him for anyway. The moment he raised a hand to Claire, though, he deserved much worse than what he got.

No, Dean wants the body gone and somewhere Cas doesn’t know about so it’s no longer a burden Cas has to carry.

There are so many things Dean wants to help Cas shoulder. Running the farm, living so close to a town that has ironclad negative opinions about them, raising Claire. This one, though, Michael’s demise and his final resting place, is one thing that Dean will take completely from his omega and carry on his own. Dean’s not so unused to the darker side of life, and he’ll gladly take this burden (light as it is, really) for Cas.

Once he’s far enough away, he starts to dig. He falls into a rhythm that allows him to ignore his burning muscles and he loses time rapidly. Eventually, he realizes that it’s closer to dusk than afternoon and he’ll have to find hand- and footholds to pull himself out of the hole.

Once he drops Michael’s body in, filling the hole goes much faster than digging it did. Once the soil has been replaced, Dean carefully tamps it until it’s level with the surrounding area, then spreads loose rocks, sticks, and leaves over the unmarked grave obsessively until it’s indistinguishable. Only once he’s satisfied that it will be nigh impossible for the body to be found does he settle a little ways away to eat the light meal Cas packed him to take today. His canteen is half empty, too, but he’s not worried.

Finished eating, he makes his way home.

* * *

_ I told Claire I would play with her, _ Dean thinks mournfully when he finally returns to the farm. Night has fallen completely, and the only sign that anyone is awake is a lantern burning in the kitchen window.

He carefully pulls all of his clothes off and leaves them in a pile at the door. He’ll burn them in the morning, they smell to high heaven and are stained with any number of unnameable things.

He walks into the house in his smallclothes to see Cas sitting at the kitchen table, staring down at his clasped hands. At Dean’s entrance, his head whips up and he stares for a beat before surging to his feet and hurrying toward Dean.

_ “Dean, _ are you hurt? Is everything… Is it-”

Dean keeps his hands out to his sides since he hasn’t had the chance to wash up yet. “It’s done,” he croaks. He realizes that he hasn’t spoken out loud in several hours and clears his throat.

Cas doesn’t seem to notice. “Gods, Dean,” he says on a loud exhale. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Cas. Just dirty and tired.”

Something wild settles a bit in Cas’ eyes and he nods seriously. “Th-thank you, Dean. Come with me, I drew you a bath.”

Dean doesn’t move. “Claire?”

“I did my best to wear her out quite thoroughly. She’s asleep.”

Dean must be showing his disappointment for the opportunity lost to play with Claire for an afternoon. For some reason, it makes Cas’ features soften, though, and he smiles.

“Don’t you worry, she was quite insistent that she get time with her alpha, too. We’ll make sure she gets it, but for now, come with me.”

Dean doesn’t know how he missed the sight of the massive copper tub they keep in the shed for baths. A few wisps of steam are still rising lazily from the water, so Cas must have continually boiled water and added it back into the tub until Dean got home.

A comfortable silence falls between them as Dean finishes undressing and steps into the hot water. He shudders as the warmth begins to sink into him. He goes down far enough to dunk his head, then leans back, rests his arms along the sides of the tub, and lets his head fall back, too.

He listens to Cas putter about but doesn’t open his eyes. Gods, but he’s _ exhausted. _ He’s content to lay here for a bit before he has to rally himself to actually move again.

He startles when he feels a rag drop into the water, but Cas immediately shushes him.

“Shh, alpha, you’re all right. Just lie there and let me take care of you.”

It’s an echo, an answer to the promise he made to Cas the night before, and Cas keeps true to it.

He washes Dean tenderly from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. Each of his muscles is given a thorough rub down and washing until Dean is a puddle in Cas’ capable hands.

“Come on, alpha,” Cas murmurs when he’s done. “Off to bed with you.”

Dean rouses a bit. “Cas, the water-”

“I said I’ll take care of everything and I meant it,” Cas says, smiling and cupping Dean’s face in his wet hands. “Go lay down, alpha, I’ll join you when this is done.”

Sensing that this is something Cas needs to do, Dean nods his acquiescence and obeys. He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the mattress.

* * *

He wakes when he feels Cas straddle him. It’s still very dark outside and he’s still on his back where he flopped down when he came to bed, so not much time could have gone by. His mind is still foggy and slow-moving, so while he knows he’s hard, there is no urgency to his arousal.

He still moans when Cas wraps a hand around him, gives him a firm pump, then lines the tip of Dean’s cock up to his entrance.

The fog in his mind clears a little. “Cas, you’re not-”

His protest is cut off when Cas, who obviously prepped himself already, sinks down onto him all at once The way the hot clench of Cas’ body engulfs him immediately overwhelms his ability to speak.

“Hush now, Dean,” Cas murmurs, “just rest, I’ll do everything.”

Dean moans softly and kneads Cas’ thighs, but does nothing to attempt to control Cas’ movements.

Cas rides him slowly, luxuriously. They’re both nude this time and Dean takes the opportunity to admire the soft curves of Castiel’s body. The lithe strength when he rolls his hips, the supple flexibility in his legs as he fucks himself onto Dean’s cock. His scent is rich with arousal, love, and enough smugness to let Dean know that Cas knows _ exactly _ what he looks like.

“So pretty for me, Cas,” Dean whispers.

“And my handsome alpha,” Cas says, twisting his hips on the downstroke and whiting out Dean’s vision for a moment.

Time goes haywire, soupy and sticky, and Dean only knows _ Cas _ in those minutes, the way he looks and feels and smells. His orgasm washes over him gently, an inexorable wave that has him clenching as Cas pulls off just in time and finishes Dean with his hands, stroking until Dean is gasping with overstimulation.

Dazed, he watches as Cas straddles him again and reaches behind himself to sink his fingers back into his hole. Dean finds the energy to wrap his own fingers around Cas’ cock and relishes the moan it gets him.

“That’s right, sweetheart, come for me, that’s it.”

Cas shivers and comes, striping Dean’s belly in white. He somehow maintains his grace as he falls forward to collapse on top of Dean, gasping through the aftershocks.

They stay like that for a few moments before Cas gingerly crawls off of Dean and steps off the bed. He gets the rag from the bath and cleans both of them off before unlocking the door and bringing Dean a set of pajamas. Once they’re both dressed, Cas gets back into bed and cuddles close.

Dean wraps Cas up in his arms and holds him, too tired to keep his eyes open but not too tired to nuzzle sleepily at the back of his neck.

“I love you,” Cas whispers, “and _ thank you.” _

Dean knows Cas isn’t talking about the sex. “I love you, too. And believe me, it was my pleasure.”

* * *

The only thing that could make the night better is when Dean wakes just enough to register that Claire is wiggling in between them, both she and Cas safe and warm in Dean’s arms.


	16. Chapter Sixteen - Epilogue

“Dean, stop fussing."

Dean grumbles but obeys, letting his possessive, protective hand drop from the small of Cas’ back. He knows this park is safe and full of other families with small pups. His alpha instincts haven’t adjusted from the birth of Jack, though, and they’re snarling.

In deference to the city, Cas is wearing a dress with full petticoats and skirts. He’s resplendent in light blue silk and a neckline low enough to show Dean’s mating bite, neatly set over Cain’s on Cas’ neck.

_ (“Cas, are you sure? I don’t need to bite you.” _

_ “I want you to.” _

_ “But right there? Where… Ah, where Cain’s is?” _

_ “I think he would have quite liked you, actually.”) _

In Cas’ arms where he’s settled on the quilt that Dean laid out is Jack, their two-month-old and the apple of every eye at the Novak farm-

_ (“We’re not changing the name, Cas. This farm was yours far longer than I have been.” _

_ Soft, pleased. “If you insist, Dean.”) _

\- including his big sister’s.

“It’s okay, Jackie,” Claire chatters to the baby as she sits next to Cas, “you’ll like Uncle Sammy and Aunt Jess. He’s an alpha and he’s  _ crazy _ about babies.”

Dean grins and sinks down to sit on Cas’ other side. It’s the second year that they’ve come out to meet Sam and Jess in Kansas City. The first time Sam laid eyes on Claire it was love at first sight. They were inseparable the last time, and now that they have the new baby to bond over, Dean expects much the same of this trip.

Dean was right about Sam wanting to leave the life behind him. He’s in his first year of law school now and Dean couldn’t be prouder. Especially now that he and Jess have mated officially. They have a lovely little townhome in the city where they’ll all retire to after the picnic in the park.

The farm has thrived under Dean’s careful planning. He’s meeting with a man from Turkey while they’re in the city who has wheat seed he wants to sell to Dean that he swears will thrive in Kansas weather, and Dean believes him. Cas’ roses are doing exceptionally well, too, and they’ve been able to start saving a little bit of money back to build on the house when it comes time for Jack to get his own room.

Dean reflects on the last two years as he sits and waits for his brother. From a conman with no connections except for Sam to a mated alpha with two pups and a successful farm.

He looks over to see Castiel rearranging Jack’s blanket and cooing down at the pup. Everything that has changed for Dean comes down to Cas, his beautiful, stubborn, strong, amazing mate.

“I love you, Cas,” he says.

Cas turns and smiles at him, the demure, private smile he gives when he’s surprised by Dean in public. “And I, you, Dean.”

And there, sitting in the sunshine with his little family, Dean is inordinately grateful for the alpha who shot him so long ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I truly can't tell you how much I appreciate you guys going on this wild ride with me.


End file.
